"
Bishen Singh, his clean cut nostrils still quivering, watched the
large sweep of the whip as it traveled from the frontier, through
Sindh, the Punjab and Rajputana, till it rested by the valley of the
Jumna
"Hate--eternal and inextinguishable hate," concluded Orde,
flicking the lash of the whip across the large map from East to
West as he sat down. "Remember Canning's advice to Lord
Granville, 'Never write or speak of Indian things without looking at
a map.'"
Pagett opened his eyes, Orde resumed. "And the race-hatred is
only a part of it. What's really the matter with Bisben Singh is
class-hatred, which, unfortunately, is even more intense and
more widely spread. That's one of the little drawbacks of caste,
which some of your recent English writers find an impeccable
system."
The wood-carver was glad to be recalled to the business of his
craft, and his eyes shone as he received instructions for a carved
wooden doorway for Pagett, which he promised should be
splendidly executed and despatched to England in six months. It is
an irrelevant detail, but in spite of Orde's reminders, fourteen
months elapsed before the work was finished. Business over,
Bishen Singh hung about, reluctant to take his leave, and at last
joining his hands and approaching Orde with bated breath and
whispering hum. bleness, said he had a petition to make.
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