Original subtitles

*

(insects chirping and birds cawing)

I came to say good-bye.

Where do you go to have the baby?

To my Aunt Ethel, Lady Manners, in Kashmir.

I'm leaving in two days.

You will go through?

Go through to the end?

Why do you ask?

Have they tried to dissuade you?

Oh, yes.

They make it sound awfully simple.

Like a duty.

Miss Manners,

I have a confession.

It has been on my conscience.

On the night of Bibighar,

when Mr. Merrick came here to look for you,

I said to him,

"Perhaps she has called in at Mrs. Sen Gupta's."

I thought only at that moment of my concern

for what might have happened to you.

But then I saw his face, how he looked round the room,

not just as a policeman

making inquiries about a missing girl.

As if he could tell that you and Kumar

had been here together.

It was a moment of surprise--

the surprise of a man

who felt he had a right to know all about your movements.

Yes, he seemed to think he had a right.

He warned me against the association with Mr. Kumar.

And after this, perhaps it was that you and Kumar had a quarrel

and did not see each other again,

so that Mr. Merrick thought

you had taken his warning to heart.

Until I spoke those words,

"Perhaps she has called in at Mrs. Sen Gupta's."

I suppose that's how it might have happened.

The way it might have looked to him.

And do you know where he is?

I've asked, but nobody will say.

I went to the house in Chillianwallah Bagh.

His Aunt Shalini wouldn't speak to me.

She wouldn't even come out of her room.

So you see, there's nothing I can do.

It's a sort of silence.

I think now it's the silence of India,

behind the chatter and the violence.

That's why he didn't speak,

why he told them nothing.

Because there's nothing you can say.

Only the silence.

DAPHNE: Hari, can you hear me?

Close your eyes and listen.

The baby is yours.

It's yours and mine together.

It is going to be difficult, but I'm not afraid.

We're together in the Bibighar,

always in the Bibighar.

Hari, it will be yours.

It will be yours.

(baby crying)

(birds chirping)

DAPHNE: Dear Auntie Ethel,

I'm sorry for all the trouble

and embarrassment I've caused you.

I began to apologize once before

when Aunt Lili brought me back last October,

but you wouldn't listen.

So I apologize now, not for my behavior,

but for the effect it's had on you.

I sometimes wonder what it must be like

to be the aunt of "that Manners girl."

I know that's how people talk about me

and that it rubs off onto you.

The awful thing is that if you ever read this,

I shan't be here to smile

and make the apology look human.

I write it because I have premonitions

of not getting through,

and I should hate to kick the bucket

knowing I'd made no attempt to set the record straight

and break the silence we both seem to have agreed upon.

Sorry about the morbid note.

I don't feel morbid, Auntie, just prepared.

(baby crying softly)

Of course I wasn't a virgin.

I'd had a lover, if you could call him that,

in London before.

I thought I loved him,

but it is only Hari I have ever really loved.

Almost more than anything else in the world,

I want to talk about him to you.

I've given up hope of ever seeing him again.

That's why the child I bear is so important to me,

even though I can't be positive it is Hari's.

But I think so.

I believe so.

Auntie, promise me one thing.

If the child survives

and you can't bear to have it near you,

you'll try to see that my money is used

to give it some kind of start in life.

I've got myself used to the idea

you won't want it under your roof.

Its skin may be as dark as Hari's or as pale as mine.

But whatever color,

he or she is part of my flesh and blood.

My own typically ham-fisted offering to the future.

But, even so, a child.

(baby continues crying)

(sighs)

WOMAN: Oh, God, it's crying again!

Do you hear?

Yes, I can hear it.

It woke me again last night.

And I picked this for a quiet mooring.

(sighs)

Really, it's too bad.

One doesn't come on holiday to Kashmir

to put up with that sort of thing.

What sort of thing, Mother?

That baby!

(crying continues)

I can't imagine what Lady Manners thinks she's doing.

It was bad enough for the wretched girl

to have the thing.

But for her aunt to keep it!

If that's what she intends.

What do you think she should have done?

I know what I should have done

and what the Manners girl should have done.

"Have it ripped out

and throw the filthy muck to the pye-dogs"?

That's what I heard one woman say.

It was her own fault anyway, if it's true.

If what's true?

That she was in love with one of the men.

Well, that's what they were saying up at the Club.

Someone came up from Mayapore

and got rather squiffy and spilled the beans.

That she'd been going round with an Indian,

and that's why she refused to identify the men:

she was afraid to.

Weren't you there, Sarah?

We talked about it at Rose Cottage, last summer.

You remember?

When everyone was talking about the riots in Mayapore

and the dangers of a second mutiny.

Yes.

I remember.

We were supposed to be visiting Auntie Mabel.

WOMAN: Well, that's the theory, though honestly,

I can't see how she'll get away with it.

If she's withholding evidence, I mean.

For one thing, there's the bicycle.

The bicycle?

Miss Manners' bike.

Apparently, the police found it in a ditch

outside her lover's house.

Presumably, he panicked

and used it to escape from the scene of the crime.

There'd be his fingerprints, of course.

For heaven's sake, there must be evidence enough

whatever she may say.

Hello, there!

Ah, Clara, at last!

And look who's with her.

Mabel's PG!

I thought it seemed too quiet.

Of course I've written to her,

but it's too early to have a reply.

I telephoned the hospital.

They said the crisis was past.

The crisis!

I should have realized she'd contract pneumonia,

sitting in the rain for nobody knows how long...

Ah, hello.

Hello.

Hello, Sarah.

Hello, Barbie.

I was just telling Mrs. Fosdick

about my friend Edwina Crane.

She's making a good recovery, it seems,

but one doesn't know

after such a terrible experience.

Attacked on the road,

her car burned out,

the Indian schoolmaster who was with her

dead in her arms.

Of course it's many years

since I last saw her.

At the Bishop Barnard School in Muzzafirabad.

CLARA: If you want a drink,

there's some nimbu on the trolley.

If you can give me a moment, I'll go and fetch it for you.

It's in my trunk, I'm sure.

Something I promised to show Mrs. Fosdick.

I'll bring it out here, then you can see.

What treat have we in store?

I think it's some sort of picture.

She was chatting on.

To do with her friend in Mayapore.

Miss Batchelor's reflected glory.

Pankot is all ears.

CLARA: Seriously, Nicky,

I'm worried about her.

My ricky almost knocked her down.

Where?

In Club Road, on the way up here.

She was wandering about all over the shop

and talking to herself.

Not really?

She jolly well was!

Not in a loud voice, I mean,

but definitely talking.

I stopped and picked her up.

I got the impression...

Well, she was talking to her friend Miss Crane.

Well, that's what I think.

And directly she got into the rickshaw,

she said how kind it was of Mabel

to let her invite Miss Crane to Rose Cottage

as soon as she was well enough.

Then she started talking about this picture

and insisted I should see it.

Gosh!

NICKY: Does Mabel seriously intend

to turn Rose Cottage into a home for ex-missionaries?

(laughing)

One is enough if you ask me!

BARBIE: I've found it!

(sighs)

"A place for everything

and everything in its place," as my mother used to say.

"The Jewel in the Crown."

That's what the picture's called.

Edwina has one as well.

She used it for teaching the children English.

"Here is the Queen, here in her crown" and so on.

Pictures are so important

when you're instructing the young, don't you agree?

Of course one has to be careful...

Sarah, you'd like to see.

Yes, Edwina once told me, in the end, she had an idea

the children confused her with Victoria!

Isn't that amusing?

But you must admit, the artist got everything in.

Princes, generals, paupers,

children, statesmen,

and old Victoria in the middle on her throne in the open air.

Quite absurd, of course, because she never came to India.

But it's allegorical because the jewel isn't the one

the prince is offering to his sovereign.

The jewel is India.

Disraeli's empire.

Yes, the jewel is India.

So what happened about the bicycle?

The bicycle?

Miss Manners' cycle.

Was it used in evidence?

There was no trial.

But there was something fishy about that bike.

Some Indian sub-inspector made a mistake

and people started saying the evidence was rigged.

So they had to lock the culprits up

under the Defense of India rules.

It was the district superintendent of police

who got the push, of course.

The usual thing.

Civil or military, if you show some guts,

they give you a medal first, then boot you off the scene.

India's going, anyway.

They're only waiting till we've won the war.

If Gandhi doesn't hand it over to the Japanese first.

How could he?

He's locked up, too.

MAN: Are, dosht!

(speaking Hindi)

Hello.

I must say, it's getting rather awkward.

SARAH: What is?

This thing with Lady Manners.

I passed quite close earlier

and she was sitting out there on deck.

Mummy, what do you think I should have done?

Suppose she'd waved?

Well, I'm not starting anything, Susan.

One can ignore a wave.

Well, perhaps she doesn't want to speak to us.

And what on earth could you say about the baby?

Where's Mohammed gone?

I'm dying for a drink.

There's some nimbu there.

Sarah, do be an angel.

Were there any letters at the boat station?

Nothing for you or Mother.

One for me.

From Teddie?

He sounds pretty miserable, according to the latest.

Flying to Mirat.

Of course he didn't fancy that,

not having flown before.

Gorgeous!

And he's getting worried

about the wedding.

Hang on a sec.

Yes.

"I haven't spoken to the G1 yet,

"so things on that front are pretty static.

"About getting leave for the wedding.

"It's rather hard to know the form.

"The worst thing about Mirat at present is the weather.

"It's rained on and off every day,

"which is rotten for exercises,

and thunder every bally night, which makes it hard to sleep."

(sighs)

Well!

(thunder)

(sighs)

Oh, God!

Chota hazri.

I say!

Hosain.

Sahib.

There's someone in the bed.

Good Lord!

Who is it?

Didn't hear him arrive.

(bugle playing)

(yawns)

MERRICK: "I hope I didn't disturb you.

"My train was badly held up and I didn't get in till 0300.

"I've asked our orderly to call me with tea at 0830,

"so shall skip breakfast.

"I look forward to meeting you later in the day

"and perhaps eating together.

"Meanwhile, my thanks,

"and apologies for any noise last night.

Ronald Merrick."

Well, gentlemen, you've listened to me long enough.

The period ahead will be tough for all of you.

Intensive training in jungle warfare

to meet with the Japanese again in Burma.

This time on our terms.

The only thing I promise you is this:

you won't have time to be bored.

(polite laughter)

I ask you now to give your attention

to a junior officer

who has recently joined my intelligence staff.

What he will tell you is confidential and important

to the picture of the enemy we expect to meet.

He's a rare bird:

an officer of the civil authority

who's persuaded his department

to let him into the Army for the duration of the war.

I don't wish to embarrass him, but I can tell you

he could have chosen an appointment

with more glamorous epaulets.

Instead, he chose an active role and the rank of captain.

So, Captain Merrick,

would you take over now, please?

No standing, gentlemen, to save disruption.

(squad drilling outside)

I say, that's the fellow who's in my room!

How do you take to him?

I haven't spoken to him yet.

(clears his throat)

In 1940, a man called Subhas Chandra Bose,

under arrest as an extremist member

of the Indian National Congress,

escaped from India through Afghanistan.

Nothing exceptional in that.

But Mr. Bose went to Berlin.

And what he did in Germany

may come as a surprise to some of you.

With the declared intention of carrying on

what he called India's fight for freedom,

he succeeded in raising a unit of battalion strength

from among Indian prisoners of war

to assist Hitler in fighting us.

(soldier coughing)

Remember,

these men were far from home, deprived of the one thing

the Indian Army has always been justly proud of:

the high level of trust between officers and men.

Mr. Bose, I must tell you, is now in Tokyo,

having traveled,

not as he entered Afghanistan, in a tonga,

but in a submarine.

(laughter)

Circumstances since 1940

have moved greatly to his advantage.

Now, there are many thousands of Indian prisoners of war

taken by the Japanese in Burma and Malaya,

and Mr. Gandhi himself, on behalf of Congress,

has called on us to leave India to God or anarchy.

It must be easy then

for leaderless, lonely and misguided sepoys

to believe that the days of British imperialism are over

and that it is now the duty of every patriotic Indian

to join an army, to help the Japanese

drive us out of India for good and all.

Such an army has been formed.

Intelligence reports indicate that it is called

the Azad Hind Fauj, or Indian National Army,

which I'll refer to as the INA.

And some of you,

perhaps in Burma, are going to meet it in the field.

Which is why what I have to tell you,

although confidential and in some ways disturbing,

may be of use.

MAN: Extraordinary!

He arrives mysteriously in the middle of the night

and pops up like a jack-in-the-box

at the briefing.

It was good stuff, I thought.

A bit worrying, of course.

Actually, I should have spoken to him after,

but he was talking to the Brigadier.

About the INA--

there's something he may not have thought of.

Here's your chance now.

Well, here goes.

I'm Teddie Bingham-- what'll it be?

I mean, I'm the fellow you're sharing quarters with.

Yes.

We meet at last, then.

Bearer!

Can I get you a beer?

Or perhaps you don't at tiffin.

That's very good of you, but I'm rather pressed.

I've got to be somewhere at 2:00,

so I'm going to go right in.

Could we make it this evening?

Yes, of course.

Good.

We'll have to get to know each other.

By the way, congratulations.

Congratulations?

Hosain, the orderly, tells me you're getting married

very soon.

Oh, did he?

Well, yes, I am.

Thanks.

Interesting, all that stuff this morning.

No idea anything like that was going on.

Only been in bloody India six months, though.

What was he, do you know?

I mean, in the Indian government?

You mean in the Civil?

I've no idea.

Ah!

A sort of spy, do you reckon?

Eh?

Um...

Hold on a sec.

I say, what awful chaps you come across nowadays.

Who?

The fellow over there.

The sort you meet in pubs on the Kingston bypass.

Are you coming in?

Actually, I think I'll skip tiffin today.

I've got that sinking feeling.

It's just come on.

There's a lot of it about, they say.

I'll see you at the daftar after.

All right, old man.

NEWS ANNOUNCER: Pictorial news from Burma,

where a cameraman is stationed near Mayu

and operating with General Wavell's army

turns his camera on British and Indian troops

disembarking from sampans on their way to the front.

(newsreel music playing)

The carrying of supplies

creates a demand for manual labor.

There are colored boys out east

willing to lend a hand and a shoulder.

In the hill country known as the Arakan Youma,

jungle fighting is the lot of men

now acclimatized to the hardships of tropical warfare.

More often than not, they don't see their enemy.

They fire at sound,

and they're pretty darned quick with the trigger finger.

(machine gun fire)

Smoke hangs over the dark green tangle

of the Burmese no-man's-land.

On the Arakan Front,

you'll find a strange collection of men,

but as hardy and as fine as they make 'em.

Where's Hosain?!

On mess duty, damn it!

SUSAN: Darling Teddie, thanks for your lovely letter.

Oh, bugger!

Bugger this!

(men yelling)

SUSAN: August 23, 1943.

Srinagar.

Darling Teddie, thanks for your lovely letter,

though I was sorry to hear about your journey

and the rotten weather.

It's lovely here today and the lake looks cool and misty,

and I do miss you a lot.

Oh, God!

(sobbing)

SUSAN: Now what about that leave, darling?

Don't want to nag, but you must know

there's heaps to be done before the wedding.

Please get it fixed as soon as poss and let me know.

Oh, Susan...

Darling...

Soldier!

Hosain!

Hosain!

Sahib?

Where's it gone?

There was a bicycle out there.

Bicycle, Sahib?

Bicycles are here.

I know that, you ass!

There was another bike out there.

Before tiffin.

Memsahib's bike.

It was all bashed up with one wheel missing.

Sahib, bicycle no good.

One wheel is missing.

I don't want the bloody thing!

I want to know where's it gone!

How am I telling, Sahib?

Only I am seeing bicycles are here.

MERRICK: Hosain!

Coming, Sahib!

Ah, there you are!

Sorry about lunchtime.

I didn't see you come to the dining room, by the way.

As a matter of fact, I... I got rather taken short.

Oh! Mirat tummy?

Sort of.

I've got some stuff that will settle that.

I expect you've been sitting under a fan

or drinking too much iced beer.

Hold on, I'll get it for you.

It's all right, I'll pour.

It tends to come out in a dribble

and then in a rush.

It cements you up.

If you have another dose of that in the morning,

you'll be as right as rain.

Thanks.

It, uh... it must be the humidity.

I've been stationed up in the hills

the past few months.

Not used to it.

Actually, the humidity here is fairly low.

Have you ever been in Sundanagar?

I've never even heard of Sundanagar.

Your shoes go green overnight.

I had an inspector there

who swore he was getting webbed feet.

And he was an Indian!

An inspector?

Were you in the Indian police, then?

DSP.

I say, Merrick...

Yes?

You'd think at least that little blighter

could change my shoes.

Where's he gone?

He may be on an errand.

Oh.

One for me.

Sorry.

There's a shoehorn in my kit

you may find useful.

And then we'll go over to the Mess

and have that drink together.

All right?

You know what I've been thinking?

About what you said this morning about the INA.

Most of those fellows who have gone over to the Japs

could be wangling their way out of prison

to get back to us.

That's what I can't help thinking.

Precisely.

Uh...

Precisely what?

That's what you can't help thinking.

As an officer in the Muzzafirabad Guides.

Your father's regiment, I expect, too.

I'm afraid I think all that's a myth.

Devotion to the Raj, loyalty of the humble Indian.

My experiences as a police officer

have blighted my enthusiasm for ideas like that.

But then, my origins and yours were probably quite different.

I was a grammar school boy.

Oh, really?

I was an awful duffer at school if it comes to that.

You don't think it's true, then, what I said?

That these men aren't really traitors?

I think it's true that many of them will persuade themselves

they have fine motives for doing what they want.

Isn't that what we all do?

All right.

But I still think there are a few things

one just doesn't do.

I don't blame the other ranks so much.

But when it comes to King's commissioned officers,

whatever color...

That's beyond the pale.

Yes.

MAN: See you in there, Teddie!

Does a bicycle have any special significance to you, old man?

A bicycle?

What do you mean, "special significance"?

Well, as a sort of symbol of the INA.

Not that I'm aware of.

Why?

I found one on the veranda at tiffin.

It wasn't there when I got back this evening.

A lady's bike-- it was broken.

Just that?

A broken bicycle?

Well, there were these marks, too.

Like some kind of puja in front of the door.

I'm afraid I scuffed them out.

What a pity.

Do you remember the marks in any detail?

I'm afraid not.

I say, do you think I was right?

About what?

The INA.

Possibly.

Have you told anyone?

I asked Hosain.

He didn't know what I was talking about.

I expect the little beggar

thought I was accusing him of something.

Have you mentioned the bicycle and the marks

to anyone else?

No.

Then I shouldn't.

Between ourselves?

Yes.

Now let me get you another of those before we eat.

Bearer!

Do burra peg soda.

To kill the bugs!

So... when's the wedding?

December or earlier.

Earlier, surely.

Once jungle training starts, you won't get the chance.

If you've decided to get married,

I'd do it right away here in Mirat.

There's a hill station called Nanoora

that's quite close if you've only two or three days.

Two or three days?

It's quite possible.

Good Lord!

We hadn't seen it a bit like that.

I mean...

How had you seen it?

A proper wedding in Pankot.

That's where we met-- her father's station.

Cheers!

Her father?

Colonel Layton, Pankot Rifles.

He's a prisoner of war in Germany, by the way.

I see.

So, it'll have to be a pukka wedding.

Pankot expects.

That sort of thing.

What about after Christmas?

I shouldn't count on it.

You seem well informed.

Well advised.

But two or three days?

Here in Mirat?

What about the guests?

Her family?

There might be a way to handle that,

if you don't mind a suggestion.

I should say not.

If there's anyone round here who knows the score,

it seems to be you.

Are you married, Merrick?

Uh, no, I'm...

...not.

What's the scheme?

I'll tell you over dinner.

"Actually, it's all turned out to be quite simple--

"rather exciting, in fact.

"Can't remember if I told you,

but Mirat is a princely Indian state..."

This is the bit.

"It seems the old Nawab

"has a guest house in the palace grounds

"that he's made available to us for special visitors.

"There's tons of room for all of your family,

"including Aunt Fenny and Uncle Arthur.

"I've checked with the SSO

"and it's free for the October dates we want.

"Sorry it's such an awful rush, but it could be fun.

"There's a nice old church in the cantonment

"and afterwards, we can shoot up to the Nanoora Hills

in just a few hours."

Well?

72 hours is all they've given us.

What do you think?

Doesn't appear you have much choice.

Full marks to him

for information and method, anyhow.

Doesn't sound like Teddie.

What?

To be so organized.

There's more to Teddie than you think.

Yes, of course.

There must be.

Mummy?

Really, it's what you think, Susan.

You're the one who has to decide.

Well, I think it will be fun.

Of course, people in Pankot will be disappointed.

Furious.

But it's my wedding, so we'll just have to tell them.

They know there's a war.

Yes.

Daddy can't be there in any case,

so it won't be the same.

MRS. LAYTON: At least there's one good thing.

SUSAN: What's that?

MRS. LAYTON: We'll have to go home early.

So we'll send Mohammed round to her houseboat

and he can drop in a card.

SUSAN: I'll have to think.

There's such a lot to do.

"Apologies.

No time to call."

That's that.

*

Good afternoon!

Lady Manners, may I come on board?

Why yes, of course.

Suleiman, help the Memsahib!

I'm Sarah Layton from the next houseboat.

You sent us your card.

Ah, yes.

So I was bringing you ours.

But as I saw you...

My mother and sister have gone to the bazaar,

so I thought I'd call.

Miss Layton,

I've seen your family on several occasions.

Yes.

Quite honestly,

we didn't know what to do, what we should say.

About the awful business of your niece, I mean.

That's why we haven't called.

But now you have.

We're going home in a few days,

so it was the last chance.

I wondered, if you wouldn't mind,

if I could see the baby.

I've often heard her.

You want to see Parvati?

Is that her name?

Yes, if I may.

I shall be delighted.

Will you follow me?

Of course, she may be asleep.

Layton Memsahib to see Parvati.

May I?

(baby babbling)

She's so tiny!

Thank you.

Miss Layton, will you take tea?

Please.

I should love to.

I think of Daphne often.

Her mother looked healthy enough,

but she died young.

And Dr. Krishnamurti warned Daphne.

It was dangerous for her?

The labor, yes.

She never saw the child.

Pankot!

Henry and I were there quite often

during the time he was governor of the province.

We never met your parents, though.

Your father commands the 1st Pankot Rifles?

Yes.

Mmm.

It's sad he can't be at your sister's wedding.

Now, she is...?

Susan.

And you are Sarah.

I have it now.

And two years younger than you are.

Well, you will like Mirat.

I suppose lending the guest house

is part of the Nawab's war effort.

He must be getting on a bit.

So must his Wazir--

an extraordinary Russian emigre Count.

Bronowsky, I think.

You must look out for him.

The English used to hate him

until they realized what a good influence he was.

Shall you be sorry to go back early to your station?

Yes, in some ways.

Lady Manners, I wonder if you could give us some advice.

We've been talking about a present--

something to give the Nawab for letting us have the guest house.

As you knew him quite well,

perhaps you could suggest what he might like.

A present?

We just couldn't think.

Well, you know the Nawab is distantly related

to ex-Chief Minister Kasim.

A charming man!

Unfortunately, we've put him in prison.

And both of them are related

to the 18th century Urdu poet, Gaffur.

I think the most flattering gift

might be a specially bound copy of Gaffur's poems.

That's a wonderful idea.

You can get one in Srinagar and easily have it bound there.

Though that might take a few days.

There's certainly a shop in Ranpur in the bazaar

where they do excellent leatherwork

and gold-leaf blocking.

You could arrange for it on your way through.

Is that a good idea?

Yes!

I'm sorry, I was just thinking...

What?

What a lot you know.

(chuckling)

It's one of the advantages of old age.

One becomes a repository

for casual bits and pieces of information.

Some of them are useful.

I didn't mean that.

I'm sorry.

What I meant was "know," not "remember."

I can't quite explain.

Please forgive me, I've taken up too much of your time.

But I have time.

In some ways.

Will you come again?

Yes, if I can.

I understand.

*

Hello!

Auntie Mabel!

Hello!

Ah!

We're back again.

Mother and Susan are busy at home.

They asked me to give you their love.

Did you enjoy the holiday?

We had to come back early.

Susan's getting married in Mirat.

The plans are all changed.

I know.

Barbie told me.

(groans)

She heard it at the Club library.

She brings me all the news, you see.

Mother would have written.

There wasn't time.

How beautiful the garden looks.

Does it?

You do such a lot.

Yes, but it often strikes me

as something the gods once loved and then forgot.

It should have died young.

I'm not here forever.

And I'm not sure that I love it enough.

Have you seen Barbie?

I think she's in the house.

I know she'll want to see you.

I'll go up and say hello.

Aziz will bring you anything you want.

Of course, I've been dying to have a chat

about the wedding.

It's so exciting!

Thank you, Aziz.

A wedding in Mirat!

I've never been there, but I've seen photographs.

Palaces, mosques and minarets!

And Susan in her veil will be standing by a fountain.

Have you noticed how still she has become

since the engagement was announced?

Or have I imagined it?

You don't take sugar, do you?

No, thank you, Barbie.

And how will you manage on the journey?

Well, Tony Bishop is to be best man.

Yes, they'd arranged that.

He's applied for leave to general ranking,

so he'll be able to travel with us.

So you'll have a man on the journey.

And will the Nawab be at the wedding?

I'm sure he'll be invited.

Perhaps he won't come.

It might be rather... fraught, if that's the word I want.

How do you mean?

Well, we locked up a relative of his.

Mohammed Ali Kasim, the Muslim Congressman.

Put him in the clink!

But then India's full of oddities like that.

Have you talked to Mabel about the wedding?

No, not really.

Is she very disappointed now she can't come?

Oh, I'm sure she'd have liked to be there, but...

Mirat's so far-- too far.

She gets tired easily and she does too much.

You'd have liked to come, too, wouldn't you, Barbie?

Me? Oh, I shouldn't have been there in any case.

Your mother wouldn't want me...

Why do you say that?

We won't...

We mustn't talk about it.

Why?

Why mustn't we?

It's not about me.

It's nothing to do with me.

It's to do with... Mabel and your mother.

But you see, I am the cause.

Of what?

Of ill feeling.

Oh.

Oh, I'm not such a fool.

I can see.

I know what people say.

"You should be living here.

Rose Cottage belonged to your grandfather."

And if Mabel had still been

living here alone when war began,

you would have come here.

But she didn't want to be here alone.

She wanted someone to share Rose Cottage with.

That's how you came.

But still, you see, I am the cause.

There's nothing I can do.

Everyone in Pankot says that Rose Cottage is too big for us

and the grace and favor bungalow

too small for all of you.

Auntie Mabel would never leave Rose Cottage.

Everyone knows that.

Do you think your mother does?

After all, she isn't your aunt.

She's your grandfather's second wife.

We've always called her Auntie Mabel.

It's what she wanted since we were children.

She's your mother's stepmother-in-law.

Mothers-in-law are bad enough!

There was a song my father used to sing when he was merry.

We were going to talk about the wedding

and look, I'm going on about my father!

I've got to go.

Thanks for the coffee, Barbie.

Oh, you've hung the picture!

Yes, Aziz did it for me.

He likes to look at it.

And it reminds me of Edwina.

"This is the jewel, here is the crown."

How many of those children did I bring to God?

That's what I wonder.

And has he any purpose?

She burnt herself.

Soaked the walls with paraffin...

of the garden shed.

When she came out of hospital.

A fearful thing.

She never answered my letters.

(fire crackling)