Page:The Modern Review (July-December 1925).pdf/27

14 vna/Ang vegetable growth known as the wateruvaeinfli, which is rapidly choking the water-ways ri Bengal. AVhat is required to avert the tragedy s the will to thrust under foot this malignant growth.’ As a ‘study of the psychology of Indian unrest’ to quote the sub-title of the book) such an analysis k the d.fferent forces at work in political India l:es not seem to me either profound or informing, I tew moments’ consideration ought to have shown he autior that this symptom which ■ he calls perverted patriotism’ is the natural and inevitable •eaction against the ‘mock Englishman’ type of 'ndian whom he so heartily dislikes. Therefore, it s rather a sign of healthy recovery than a symbol r disease. Furthermore, it would be well if Lord Ronakl:aav were to consider whether the noxious weed, v.i ch, lice the water-hyacinth, has got its stranglci:li or. Indian village-life, is not the British rwer tself, in some of its economic aspects, = 'ashing out indigenous industries and ‘choking the '-atenvays’. Here, it has been often pointed out, f a malignant growth, which lias to be ‘thrust n.der fcot’ at all cost, if Indian village life is to be 'reserved and Avifh it also the distinctfre culture ' -i-ch belongs to the Heart of Aryavarta. But can n evil be ‘thrust under foot’ by a policy of mode‘au’oii ? And, further still, Avhen Lord Ronaldshay '-'rites about the ‘consuming hatred of the West’ tj ch has infected the present Indian generation, il shou.d first ask himself the question how their nteed lias been fanned into such an active flame. ■ he searched with thoroughness, he Avould find that 1.3 arrogance of the British in India has been the ■ Liefest cause of all. It Avould be good to ‘thrust ruder foot Oils malignant groAvth’. The truth is that —erd Ronaldshay has been living in a glass-house mrl throwing stones. Looking back over the whole book, I feci

distinctly that on the political side Lord Ronaldshay is at his ovorst. Yet he forces his politics upon the reader on every occasion. It is true, that there appears in the book no sign of vulgar colour preju­ dice. He is free from the coarse bad manners of that latest and most blatant form of snobbery In the West. There is no preaching of the superiority, by birth of the blonde Nordic Race. Yet he has Ms oavu idolatry. He believes in the Dhine Infallibility of the British Empire, Avoiicl without end. He is quite certain that the only place for India, is within that Empire. The very thought of independence rouses his mincl into a state of furious agitation. He calls such a thought ‘race-hatred’ and other bad names. To tell the British bluntly to clear out of India Avould be a blasphemous heresy. For, this kindly and artistic British Earl cannot put himself in another man’s place and see how he AA'ould like to be ruled in perpetuity by an alien race. It is true, that he is in favour of Indian ‘self-government,’ but it must be ■within the British Empire or not at all. In this sense he is uncompromisingly patronising, and the patronage hurts. To Avrite all that I have Avritten has not been a pleasant task, because there is so much in the ^ book, outside the political limits, Avhich is most ' congenial. When once the political propaganda on behalf of the British Empire has been laid on one' side, it is possible to give the book praise. For in genuine appreciation of natural and spiritual beauty, a series of very tender and intimate pictures have been drarn. The vision, which he gives, of Belur Math, the glimpse of Santiniketan Avith its Poet, the joy in Nandalal’s alligorical master-piece in the temple .of science, these are things in the book AA'hich tingle with life,—not the raucous and banal politics of the author Avhich only Avound and offend.

great newspaper magnate Lord Northcliffe, when visiting Singapore, wrote:—

"‘Here the climate is so damp and enervating that newly opened Huntley and Palmer’s biscuits feel like putty and the air around is one vast vapour bath. And yet here Englishmen and Englishwomen are driving, riding, playing golf and dancing as vigorously as at Home. What splendid vitality has our race.‘"

And our race? Mr. C. R. Das died at the age of 54 after less than 36 hours of a simple fever. Sir Ashutosh Mukherji, Mr. Gokhale, and Mr. M. Bhattacharya (once Accountant-General of the Panjab) all passed away prematurely (judging by English standards of longevity) and nearly all so quickly that the best medical treatment could not be given to them, and their real disease could not be satisfactorily ascertained. They were all well-to-do and highly educated men, free from vice; none of them died of an accident. They had no vital power of resistance, no reserve of strength,—and, in the case Sir Ashutosh and Mr. C. R. Das at least, not even the habit and spirit of insisting on careful scientific treatment from the first onset of the disease.

Are such tragedies possible in any country of Europe,—except