Original subtitles

On the defense of India,

the biggest convoy of troops and equipment on record.

With the Japanese poised, ready for attack from Burma,

with German armies smashing their way through

to the Caucasus, and with the threat

of violent nonviolence from Gandhian Congress,

the defense of India has become

one of the most urgent duties among all the urgent duties

of Britain and the United Nations.

The escort included a battleship,

as well as cruisers, destroyers and other warships.

Ship after ship has come safely in

to lie quietly at anchor under the blazing sun.

Flash your torch there, Mr. De Souza.

In the ditch!

- No wounds. - Who is it?

I don't know, Sister Ludmila.

Some fellow has been through his pockets, from the huts.

Yes. The poor ones pretend to sleep.

But what a fearful place to be without God's blessing on you.

Take him up.

Such anger in that face, Mr. De Souza.

If he's not wounded, he must be ill.

This one is drunk, Sister.

It is what I have been waiting for

all the time I worked for you.

To find that only we've carried home

a useless carcass of a drunken man --

not the dying, or it may be the dead,

but only a drunk.

This one is only a boy.

To be so drunk, he must also be unhappy.

Let him lie, and I shall pray for him.

Good night, Mr. De Souza.

Good morning.

I want to see the person in charge.

I want to see the woman who calls herself Sister Ludmila.

It's we who call her that.

Right now she's busy. Can I be of help?

Who are you?

I -- I am nobody.

Hardly worthy of your consideration.

It's all right, Mr. De Souza.

Mrs. Ludmila Smith?

My name is Merrick.

I'm the district superintendent of police.

Of course. We are used to visits from the police,

but not, Mr. Merrick, that you should come yourself.

In what way can I assist you?

I should like to carry out a search.

Of course.

And where shall we begin?

Wherever you want.

Another of your helpers?

He spent the night with us.

Mr. De Souza, perhaps, knows his name.

I only know that he has a hangover, Sister.

He's all right now, and he's making ready to go.

I'm afraid no one can go till I say so.

Are we then all under arrest?

As I'm sure you've already guessed, Sister Ludmila,

we're looking for a wanted man.

Is this what is known as the "death house"?

I believe that sometimes people who have never been here

at the Sanctuary have called it that.

But there are no dead this morning.

No, not this morning. Not for several days.

The homeless?

I do not house the homeless.

The clinic receives only in the evening.

Only those who cannot afford to lose a day's work

come to us here.

Mr. De Souza is in charge.

You have no one with medical qualifications?

Dr. Krishna Mortias,

and also Dr. Anna Klaus of the purdah hospital.

The municipal board provides nothing,

so the money,

while it continues, must come from me, and from God.

That's a curious arrangement.

It's a curious country, but God allows for that.

These are all your helpers? Your regular workers?

No one is regular here.

They come and go.

I take on those who need to earn a few rupees.

All those who need it most.

Then Mr. De Souza is also irregular?

No, because the Sanctuary is as much his as mine.

Mr. De Souza is not interested in rupees.

In life, rupees are a great consideration.

Sahib.

Then there is only your night visitor.

Thank you, Sister Ludmila.

We need take up no more of your time.

Who is that boy?

-His name is Coomer. -Coomer?

In fact, Kumar. A nephew by marriage.

I believe of Romesh and the Senguptas.

Why then do you say Coomer if it is Kumar?

Ah, why?

It would be interesting if not best to see what follows.

What?

I'm sorry, I'm afraid I don't speak Indian.

Look here, tell this man

it's no use talking Indian at me.

Sister Ludmila,

is there a room where we can question this man?

- Question? What for? - Mr. Kumar.

These are the police. They are looking for someone.

It is their duty to question anyone we cannot vouch for.

And last night we found you in a ditch.

Now, what is so terrible in that, except hangover?

Come, to the office.

Is that your name -- Kumar?

No. But it will do.

I see.

And your address?

What is all this? Can anyone just barge in here?

Come to the office, and don't be silly.

I think, Sister, we won't waste any more of your time.

Enough of that! This is my property!

In it, I will not tolerate such behavior.

And you, stop being silly.

If you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to fear.

We seem to have got beyond the stage, Sister,

where a talk in your office would be satisfactory.

I'm taking him into custody.

Oh? What charge?

On no charge.

But I have a charge.

Being assaulted by this fellow with a beard.

Then make it at the Kotwali.

Sister, does this man have any possessions to be returned?

We found nothing.

We turn out pockets, you understand,

for purposes of identification.

No. I have nothing. Except one thing.

And that?

A statement.

I come with you under protest.

He lives with his aunt, Mrs. Sengupta,

the sister of his father.

His father, 20 years ago, went to England and died

before this war began.

He made and lost a fortune.

And died, they say, by his own hands.

And the boy?

Came to his Aunt Shalini in Mayapore.

But all he knows, I think, is England.

But it will not be all.

I will speak to the uncle.

Romesh Chand has a lawyer.

So it will not be all.

I left my cycle in the rack outside.

They told me to report to Matron.

You're our new volunteer then.

You'll find her a bit grim at first,

but the bark's worse than the bite.

- Thank you, nurse. - Good luck.

Oh, by the way, out here QAs are Sisters.

- Only Anglo-Indians are nurses. - Sorry.

One of those things.

Come in.

Matron, I'm Daphne Manners.

I was told to report to you.

"Manners." Now, that's a famous name in Mayapore.

How do you do?

I've been here since the days when your late uncle

was governor of the province.

How is Lady Manners?

She's living in Rawalpindi. She's very well.

Where shall we start?

Shall I show you the Manners wing?

You're staying with the deputy commissioner, I suppose?

No, with Lady Chatterjee at the MacGregor House.

Lady Chatterjee?

I traveled with her from Rawalpindi.

Was one of Lady Manner's closest friends.

Of my uncle, too, of course.

Lady Chatterjee is a Rajput princess.

She entertains a wide circle of friends,

both European and Indian.

But this is a British hospital,

and in India, you will soon understand what that means.

You may find things here of which you do not approve,

of which I may not approve.

Then perhaps there are things that ought to be changed.

I'm sure they will be...

if you prefer to wait till then.

In the meantime, there are the sick to care for.

What were you doing before you came out?

I drove an ambulance in London in the Blitz.

That must have been exciting.

Yes, I was scared stiff.

You didn't have to bother there what people's views might be.

You saved their lives.

It's the same here.

If you're to satisfy me, you must forget everything

except the work you do, do you understand that?

Yes. Yes, of course.

Come along.

Good morning, Matron.

- Oh, I'm sorry! - No matter.

Miss Manners, this is Dr. Anna Klaus,

from the women's purdah hospital.

Lili Chatterjee has told me about you.

Welcome to Mayapore.

I felt such a fool.

Anna Klaus is not a harpy, almost a charm.

I was just putting on my glasses.

Those wretched specs. Are you sure you need them?

Well, Auntie Ethel said in Pindi I ought to give them up.

I suppose they do look rather awful.

Not for that.

I don't approve of specs for young people.

I'll lend you Huxley's book and you must do the exercise.

Look through the trees.

Can you see the hills?

No, not at all.

Hmm. Never mind. We'll try again tomorrow.

Drink up -- we'll have the other half

and bash off into dinner.

Raju, tell cook we'll eat in 20 minutes.

Yes, Madam.

Anna Klaus is Jewish.

Is that a description? Not per se.

She was thrown out of Germany by Hitler before the war.

I see a lot of her because of my dealings

with the women's purdah hospital.

You know she telephoned today.

Not about you -- about a young Indian

who'd got himself in trouble with the police.

What sort of trouble?

Not politics. I don't think Anna really knew.

She'd spoken to this madwoman

who calls herself Sister Ludmila

and bashes around picking up dead bodies

and people who are dying, so I telephoned Judge Menen

and he rang me back in half an hour.

"Lili," he said, "your young man

seems to have a lot of influence.

There's been a lawyer there already.

The police have let him go."

I expect we did more harm than good.

Well, after such a fuss, they won't forget him.

"Ah, Mr. Kumar," the police would say,

"he has a lot of friends."

I saw Ronald Merrick again today.

He was in that big truck of his.

Well, Ronald is a chum.

At least, I think he is.

How do you mean?

I sometimes wonder if he comes to the MacGregor House

only to pick things up.

After all, there aren't so many places

where a district superintendent of police

can mix with Congress wallahs and hear their news.

And he's a policeman all the time, young Ronald,

don't you think?

Of course, he may not be with you.

Oh, I don't really know him.

Lili: He's good-looking.

Yes, he is, quite.

All the girls are after Ronald Merrick.

I want to ask you something.

Well, bash on.

May I call you auntie?

I seem to be rather short of relations all of the sudden.

I mean, it was sudden when daddy and David were killed

and then I came to India and found Auntie Ethel.

Will you be Auntie, too?

It's nice of you to ask. Of course.

Ha! But what will the Matron say?

And all the people at the Gymkhana Club?

"I say, Daphne,

Lady Chatterjee's not really your aunt.

I mean, she can't be."

Oh, I shan't bother about the club.

I'll never go!

Because of me? But you should.

How else will you meet young people?

I shall meet them here.

I shall give a cocktail party.

But I shan't ask Ronald Merrick.

I'll ask him to dinner,

so if he comes it will be for you and not as a police.

So long before the rains.

When the rains come, everything smells sweet.

I like the smell of India.

Daddy used to talk a lot about it.

I never could imagine --

It's the smell of dung, the smell of India.

Your father didn't tell you that -- they burn it.

I shall ask in Mr. Kumar to my party.

Young Mr. Kumar is a mystery.

Like the smell of India.

The hideous sight

of a fire-swept Burmese town by night,

the awful result of a Japanese attack

on a completely undefended town from which the population fled

as the place is gutted by wholesale fire.

From scenes such as this, the panic-stricken people

of many towns in Burma have fled in their thousands,

moving in great colonies from the terror

which sweeps across their land.

Did you hear the radio?

Last night the RAF bombed Rostock,

300 aeroplanes.

It's strange being a German and listening to the news.

Divided loyalties, you know.

Anna, excuse us.

I want Daphne to meet Robin and Connie White.

Mr. and Mrs. Deputy C.

They're popping in just to show willing --

and to meet you, of course.

Aunt Lili, you know that isn't true.

Oh, but it is.

We met your aunt and uncle, Sir Henry and Lady Manners,

years and years ago, didn't we, Robin?

I think so. Excuse me.

Oh, but you won't remember. Robin was quite the junior then.

Well, I owe Auntie Ethel an enormous letter,

so I must ask.

Oh, I'm sure she won't remember.

Though there was a funny story about that meeting.

Now, who has Lili got here tonight?

There's Vassi over there. Srinivasan.

He's the lawyer who always gets roped in

when any of our Congress people get into hot water.

Judge Menen talking to my husband.

Terribly amusing. You must meet him!

You must be Mr. Kumar. I'm Lili Chatterjee.

How do you do, Lady Chatterjee?

I'm afraid my Aunt Shalini couldn't come.

Oh, dear, how sad.

How is it, Mr. Kumar, that we've never met?

Actually, we have.

At a flower show.

Your roses won second prize.

A flower show?

I wrote a piece about it for the Mayapore Gazette.

Of course! Now I remember.

Daphne! This is Mr. Kumar.

I told you there was something I knew

and couldn't remember what it was.

Well, that was it.

Mr. Kumar works for the Mayapore Gazette.

How do you do?

I'll leave you two together and look after the old fogeys.

Ramaswami will bring you a drink.

Your aunt couldn't come?

No.

I'm Lili's house guest.

Daphne Manners.

I haven't been here very long so I'm not much help.

Do you know everyone?

Pretty well.

There are some technical college types.

Faces I remember, names I forget.

Is the Mayapore Gazette an English paper?

Your English is terribly good.

Where did you learn to speak it so well?

England.

England, of course.

I mean, how stupid of me.

Now, where is Ramaswami? You haven't got your drink.

Sahib.

Thank you.

I say, would you like to see the garden?

But of course you can't from here.

What I mean is, would you like me to show it to you?

Yes, of course.

I may get into trouble. I did earlier today.

From Balu.

I got up and picked some marigolds

for Aunt Lili's breakfast

then trod on one of these precious beds.

It's all right now, though.

I gave the old rascal 10 chips when I got home.

But don't say anything to Lili.

She'd be furious if she knew.

Did you have a nice garden,

where you were in England?

I suppose it was all right.

I didn't take much notice of it.

Were you in England long?

Yes. Since I was 2.

I went to school there.

Oh, where was that?

Chillingborough.

Oh, I must know someone who went to Chillingborough.

No. I don't think I do.

David would have done. He was my brother.

"Was" because he's dead.

He and my father were both killed last year in the desert

just two months apart.

I'm sorry.

That's why I came to India.

I'd lost my mother before the war.

My mother died when I was born.

That's why I went to England.

And then I lost my father, too, so I came here.

Makes us rather the same.

How the same?

Well, we've both lost our parents.

Lost our homes.

And now we've both come along --

I don't feel the same.

It's not the same.

Well, you came back --

Back? How can I possibly...

I'm sorry, I've stayed too long.

I've really got to go.

Thanks.

I'm sorry. It's not the same for anyone.

Goodbye.

Bye, Lady Chatterjee. Thank you.

Goodbye, Mr. Kumar.

Ah, there you are.

Some people from the Tech are staying on.

I hope they won't be dull.

Well, what did you make of young Mr. Kumar

who's just bashing off?

I think he's terribly sad.

Now, why do you say that?

Because he seems so lost.

Does anyone know what's all this in aid of?

The War Week Exhibition? Some DC organized it.

A bit of flag-waving to impress the natives.

Really? I don't see how.

Don't see many of them here.

Well, that's the point, isn't it?

One waves the flag to show who it belongs to.

Hello.

Oh!

Miss Manners, I, uh, think you know Brigadier Reid.

Brigadier...?

Oh, yes.

Rawalpindi.

I met you with your aunt at some official do.

Oh, yes, yes, it was.

- How is Lady Manners? - Oh, she's very well, thanks.

Oh, this is Babs Linton.

- Brigadier Reid. - How do you do?

- Tony Masters. - How do you do, sir?

- And Reggie Brackenhurst. - Sir.

Well, let's hope this all goes down well.

First public showing in Mayapore.

Yes, sir, it is.

Well, with Gandhi and the Congress

putting their spokes in the wheel,

seems a good way of showing our mettle.

And not just for the regiment, the whole thing.

Well, you'd better go and get yourself some tea

before it's all gone, eh?

Yes, sir, we shall.

How's Lili, by the way?

Fine.

I'm sorry she can't be here.

Yes. So am I.

Well, sir, what would you like to do?

The parade starts in about half an hour.

I would suggest a bit more air.

I say, Daphne, I didn't know you knew the Brigadier.

No, neither did I.

Just look at this spread!

Some Indian contractor is making a packet out of this lot.

Bara, tea for the memsahibs.

Are those sandwiches?

Uh, you girls better pick what you want.

Come on, Bara, jaldi, jaldi.

Sorry, sahib.

What's on after the parade?

I think the sepoys are going to do some wrestling.

Oh, I couldn't bear to see that.

Well, there'll be boxing, too, from our chaps.

Hang on a minute.

Hello. It's Mr. Coomer, isn't it?

Actually, it's Kumar.

Hari Kumar.

Oh.

Coomer was in England.

Yes, I see.

Do you remember me? We met at Lili Chatterjee's.

Yes, I know.

How are you?

Fine.

I suppose you're here for the Gazette.

Yes. That's why.

For the parade.

It's just about to start, I think.

Well...

hope you enjoy it.

By the way...

if you want to come again, please do.

Come any evening. It's open house, you know.

Yes, thanks. I will.

I'll see you again, then.

Sorry.

I say, who was that --

That? Oh, just the boy who was at Chillingborough.

Chillingborough?

Good Lord.

♪ We'll meet again

♪ Don't know where

♪ Don't know when

♪ But I know we'll meet again

♪ Some sunny day

♪ Keep smiling through

♪ Just like you

♪ Always do...

Good Lord, I hate that blasted tune.

What's the matter with it?

I'm all in favor of Vera Lynn,

the girl with the golden whatsit.

I think you're drunk.

I am a little.

Hello, Merrick.

Hello, Ronald.

Enjoy the parade?

I saw you there.

A double whiskey, Joseph.

I'll tell you something,

I'd rather have this than a military band...

♪ Bom-bom-bom

...going through my head all bloody afternoon.

I thought the music was good. I like military bands.

Do you?

I've got a rather good collection of Sousa records.

You must come and listen to them.

Oh. Thanks. I will.

Well, uh, sometime.

♪ Some sunny day ♪

That was pretty cool.

"Come up and see my etchings." Never trust a policeman, too.

Well, I'm impressed.

Daphne's obviously got what it takes.

I've got what it takes if that's what you're after.

Shut up, Tony.

Where are you going, Lili?

Where do you think?

The English have always revered Sikhs,

but hated them to be shrewd.

To a Hindu, of course, life is a struggle towards oblivion,

the material world being an illusion.

Drinks, Ramaswami.

So if Mr. Gandhi chooses to ignore reality,

even one as likely and unpleasant

as invasion by the Japanese,

I really do have to admire his shrewdness

in striving for personal salvation

while putting the cats all thoroughly

among the pigeons.

Whereas, for Western religious mores,

getting to heaven requires only an act we're all capable of.

Dying, I mean.

Your turn to take a tile.

Thank you, Ramaswami.

So, are you going to become a Sannyasi?

Bash off with a staff and begging bowl

to renounce the world?

Not quite yet.

By the way, I met Mr. Kumar the other day.

I asked him to drop in. I said "any time."

You don't mind, do you, auntie?

No. Of course not.

He lives with his Aunt Shalini in the Ginuwalla Park.

Mrs. Sengupta.

It seems one night he got drunk,

so that's why the police picked him up.

I spoke to Anna Klaus and she told me

what she'd learned from that madwoman

who runs the Sanctuary place.

But are you interested in Mr. Kumar?

Rather an odd fish.

Perhaps I'm an odd fish myself.

In those specs?

Well, I don't suppose he'll ever come.

Thank you, auntie.

Daphne.

Oh, come in, Aunt Lili.

I'm bashing off now.

I'll be back about midnight, I expect.

- Have a good time. - Oh, I will.

And give my love to the Whites.

I hope our young friend Kumar has the good manners to turn up.

Of course he will.

Raju took my note round to the house

and he was out, that's all.

Goodbye, Aunt Lili!

Of course he'll come.

Ramaswami.

Ramaswami!

Oh, Lord, I'm going to be in trouble.

I'm sure I never picked such tons of flowers.

Ramaswami!

Tell cook we'll probably want dinner in a half an hour.

Yes, Madam. Sahib is here.

- Where? - His tonga is just now leaving.

The sahib is coming up the steps.

- Hello. - Hello. I'm sorry if I'm late.

No, it's all right.

I had to go to the station to get a tonga.

You're not late at all.

Do you like gin fizz? That's what I'm going to have.

Yes, that would be fine.

- Raju, two gin fizzes, please. - Yes, Madam.

- Sorry? - Ice?

Oh, yes, please.

I'm afraid my Hindi still isn't very good.

I did take some lessons, but my teacher

was too fond of garlic so I had to give them up.

I haven't that much Hindi at all.

Cigarette?

Thanks, but I've given up.

You were smoking at the party.

Yes. Yes, I was then.

Thanks.

Well, cheers.

I've ordered dinner in about half an hour

so we'll have time for the other half.

Perhaps I should have told you,

Lili won't be here.

Oh.

Oh, I see.

Saturday is one of her bridge nights.

She's playing with the VC and his wife

so I knew she was going out,

and I hate bridge.

Well, I didn't want to be alone.

I wanted someone to talk to about home and eat

an enormous chicken pulao with me.

I was afraid if I told you Lili wasn't here

you wouldn't come, so I cheated.

That's why I didn't say.

- Do you mind? - No.

No, I don't mind.

I seem to get things wrong.

Like "Coomer."

Oh, yes, that.

It is Hari Kumar.

Yes. Not Hari anymore.

Ha-ri, as in Mata Hari.

Did you see that picture years and years ago?

With Greta Garbo. Yes.

She was wonderful.

Oh, wasn't she?

I was 13, I think.

So was I.

What music do you like?

I went to the bazaar this morning

and bought a pile of new records.

Glenn Miller, the Ink Spots, that sort of thing.

Jazz and swing?

Lili's got a portable. Shall we try some after dinner?

Yes, that will be fun.

The idea was, after Chillingborough,

I'd swot for the ICS exams.

That's what my father always wanted.

But after he was dead and I came out here,

there wasn't much money for anything like that.

Or rather there was.

But it belonged to my aunt's brother-in-law,

Romesh Chand Sengupta.

He's a rich Bunya.

A merchant.

But he wasn't willing to cough up,

so I tried various things.

And ended up with the Gazette.

How do you like it?

It's all right.

It's one way to cross the river.

Cross the river?

From my side to yours.

Oh.

Well, what shall we have next?

There's a Victor Silvester somewhere.

Ooh, yes, let's have that.

Is it difficult, then, crossing the river?

Not difficult.

It's just that you become invisible.

I say, I've almost forgotten

how I was never much good anyway.

Would you care to dance?

Well...

I was once described by my partner

as an elephant in clogs.

But if you're prepared to risk it,

perhaps we could sort each other out.

Here goes, then.

How do you mean, invisible?

- Oh! Sorry. - No, it's my fault!

I'm gallumphing. This is hopeless.

It's too slow.

There's "In the Mood" over there -- Joe Loss.

Can you find it? Even I can dance to that.

Here it is.

Oh, thanks.

It was mother who told me to stop gallumphing.

When I was 15.

I'd always thought I was the Diana type --

you know, long-legged and graceful,

flitting through the forest, that sort of thing.

But it turned out I wasn't.

Right.

- Have another go? - Yes.

I used to love the Proms.

Did you ever go?

I'm afraid I never did.

Here's Lady Chatterjee.

Thank you, Ramaswami. Is our guest still here?

Yes, Madam.

Hello.

- Hello, Aunt Lili. - You look cozy.

- Lady Chatterjee. - Had a good time?

We've been playing records and nattering about home.

Is it really 12:00?

Mm. And there's a tall wallah in the drive smoking a beedi.

Oh, yes, he's come for me. I must be going.

- Must you really? - Yes, it's late.

I almost made a grand slam with Judge Menen

against the Whites.

Do you know who looked in?

Ronald Merrick.

Something official, of course, with the DC.

By the way, he says your popping round to hear some records.

Oh. Yes, yes, I am.

Daphne, is that you?

Hello, Aunt Lili.

Hmm.

Oh, Lord, it's hot.

I wish I'd taken a tonga instead of the bike.

Even the hospital today was like an oven.

Ramaswami will bring you a nimbu pani

with tons and tons of ice.

Your letter is from Mr. Kumar.

I know because I had one, too.

He thanked me nicely

for entertaining him the other evening

and says his Aunt Shalini

invites us both to come to dinner.

Unfortunately, once more on Saturday,

which is my bridge night,

so I must refuse.

Have you anything laid on at the club?

No.

Well, my invitation is for form's sake only.

Mrs. Sengupta is a widow living in seclusion.

So really it is young Kumar

who is returning your hospitality to him.

Do you want to go?

It's rather an honor, don't you think, if she asked?

Hari says they have no gramophone.

Is that a sort of hint I should take yours?

I rather think,

even if it is, Mrs. Sengupta would not approve.

Especially if you took our records,

which are all European and would probably offend her ears.

Thank you, Ramaswami.

And I'd advise you to have

a few quick chota pegs before you dash off.

She may be a good Hindu, so there will be

no alcohol in the house at all.

Auntie, you're making me quite nervous.

She can't be such an ogre.

I don't think Hari's frightened of his Aunt Shalini.

Ginuwalla Park?

Hello.

Chicken Tandoori.

I say to Hari,

"I hope Miss Manners likes her Indian food."

Oh, yes, very much.

Uh, Hari, don't we have any ice beer?

Why don't you offer?

Yes, I'll get it. I mean, if you want.

Oh, yes, please.

Everybody says the rains are late this year.

That's why it's so hot.

But you look beautifully cool.

What is heat if you are...

accustomed?

You are an English girl.

And Hari, too.

When first he came to India, he suffers from it very much.

My Brother Dileep brings him up in England

as an English boy.

Yes, I know.

So you must see what fearful shock it is for him

to come to this house,

to number 12 Ginuwalla Park here in Mayapore.

Afterwards, I will be showing you photographs

that my brother Dileep sent from England.

From Sidcourt where he's living.

Do you know this place?

No, I've never been there.

It's beautiful, this house.

And it was Hari's home.

All this he's missing very much.

At first, I feel he's not happy.

But now... this is his home.

And Hari tries to be a proper Indian.

Ah!

Here is the beer.

Um, haven't we a jughari?

I'm telling Miss Manners about your father's house.

When my husband died, Dileep wrote to me.

"Leave Mayapore and come to us in England."

"No, Dileep," I answered him.

"My duty, what I have, is here."

Never again I fear we shall see each other.

The Indians are very fatalistic.

Isn't it?

Too much, I feel.

Oh, well, enough of this.

Hari, pour the beer.

Please eat.

Eat, please.

Oh, that's Sidcourt.

Yes.

Oh, what a lovely garden.

Do you miss it terribly?

Not anymore.

And this one is of Hari with Colin Lindsey,

who also was at Hari's school.

- At Chillingborough? - Yes.

Often in the holidays,

Hari's father is away, to do business.

So Hari spends much time at this boy's house.

And almost Mrs. Lindsey is becoming his mother, too.

Colin is Hari's greatest friend at home.

Hari, what is it?

What's going on? What's the commotion?

Here is another one

of Hari and Colin.

It's Miss Manners' tonga, actually.

I told him to come back at 11:00.

Oh, I never noticed the time.

It's been such a lovely evening.

Please, come again, any time you want.

Thanks.

I'd love to.

What happened to your friend after you came to India?

- To Colin? - Yes.

Oh, we lost touch.

Oh, there's lightning.

It must come soon, don't you think?

The rains.

Yes, very soon now.

Then everything will be green and fresh like England.

Like England.

Does that remind you?

I wanted to bend down and kiss your Aunt Shalini

when I said goodbye, but I didn't dare.

I'm very fond of her now. I'm grateful, too.

Of all my relatives, she was the only one who gave me a home.

And I could see how proud she was.

Look. It's that madwoman, isn't it, from Russia?

She collects dead bodies in the street

and dresses like a nun.

She isn't mad,

and I don't think she comes from Russia.

We call her Sister Ludmila.

I wrote a piece about her for the Gazette.

The editor didn't want it.

Said she was a joke.

In fact, I think he was afraid it was political.

As if the British didn't care

that people were dying in the streets.

I told them nobody cared, not even the people that were dying.

Except for her.

Is that what she does?

Care for the dying?

She runs a clinic at a place called the Sanctuary.

Doles out free rice. Mothers and children, mostly.

- Have you been there? - Mm-hmm.

Would you take me?

I'd like to see.

If you want.

She'll probably ignore you.

Well, how did you get to know her?

By chance.

Would you care for a brandy?

Or a liqueur?

There's Curaçao or crême de menthe.

Brandy.

Brandy for the memsahib.

Oh, Turkish.

You have gone to a lot of trouble.

And for me.

Well, there you are.

I wanted you to hear the Sousa.

And that's a super Radiogram.

Did you get it out here?

It was ordered from Cal.

Most of this stuff is PWD, of course.

Except the pictures.

Oh, I hadn't noticed.

They're Henry Moores.

What a surprising man you are.

You mustn't think a policeman has no imagination.

Oh, I didn't.

I meant, how clever of you to find them, that's all.

People sometimes do dismiss policemen as insensitive.

It's not surprising, I suppose.

So far as I'm concerned, I felt

the Indian Police Service was the best job I could do.

Of course, uh...

there wasn't a war then.

If I'd known what was going to happen,

it would have made things different.

But then, uh... anybody can say that.

If we knew what was going to happen,

our choices wouldn't be the same.

No. No, they wouldn't.

I like this kind of thing, too.

It's "Clair de Lune."

Yes.

What made you think of that?

Do you like it, too?

It was one of David's favorites.

My brother.

Almost the last time I was with him,

we went to the old Queen's Hall.

Before it was bombed.

It's Walter Gieseking, isn't it?

That's who we heard.

If it upsets you, I can take it off.

No, it's all right. I want to hear it.

Go on with what you were saying,

about not being a policeman

if you'd known about the war.

Well, when it started, I applied for a transfer.

Nothing doing.

They told me I was more valuable where I was.

Which was good in a way. And the work is important.

I care a lot about it.

For someone with my background, it seemed to open up a way.

What is your background, Ronald?

I don't know at all.

It's very ordinary.

My father did quite well,

but I'm only a grammar school boy.

And my grandparents were...

pretty humble sort of people, you might say.

I worked very hard, passed all the right exams.

I have only one regret about my misspent youth,

if that's what it was.

And that is I never really had it to spend or misspend.

I suppose that's why I find it hard now

to do the things that other people do so easily.

Enjoy myself.

Feel free with people.

I tend to concentrate on the job.

And life goes by.

So that's what I was doing while all the other chaps

were simply having fun.

That's why I never found what you might call

the right sort of girl.

It's meant I've often been pretty lonely,

keeping to myself.

I know I haven't got much to offer.

That's why our friendship means a lot to me.

Yours and mine.

If you understand.

Understand?

What?

I'm only asking whether,

after you've had time to think about it,

you'd consider the possibility of becoming engaged to me.

Oh.

Well, thank you, Ronald.

I thought I'd ask.

Yes, it was very kind.

I'm awfully sorry.

I haven't really thought much about getting engaged to anyone.

Well...

there you are.

You liked the music?

Yes, yes, I did.

I'm sorry.

It was a marvelous dinner, too. You went to heaps of trouble.

And I am sorry.

Are you coming in for a nightcap?

Thanks.

Not tonight.

All right.

And thank you for a lovely evening.

By the way...

Yes?

I hope you don't mind the suggestion,

but I'd like you to have the use of this car

when you come home at night.

I can very easily send around my driver

to the hospital when you finish late.

The MacGregor House is rather isolated,

on the edge of the cantonment.

And there may be trouble brewing up as I expect you know.

What sort of trouble?

Anti-British feeling.

Mr. Gandhi's "Quit India" campaign.

If the Indian National Congress Party

votes in support of that, it will amount to a call

to every Indian to go on strike

and refuse to help us keep out the Japanese.

I don't believe Gandhi has the least idea what effect

this has on the sort of hotheads I have to deal with.

Young Indians with a bit of education and no sense at all.

That crazy old man sets them on fire with dreams

and illusions, and I have to cool them off.

That's why I'd like you to have the use of the car.

Whenever you want.

It's very kind of you, Ronald,

although I'm sure it won't be necessary.

Forgive me if I say it is, as a policeman.

If you insist.

I don't intend to put you under any obligation.

You do understand?

Yes, of course.

I'll see you to the house, then.

Good night, Ronald, and thanks again for everything.

Think about what I said.

At the bungalow, I mean.

Some ideas take some getting used to.

And I'm a patient man.

Yes, of course.

Good night.

Good evening, Raju.

Namaste.

Namaste.

Namaste.

Oh, woman! Hold the baby!

How can I treat unless you hold it still?

- Please, let me do it. - Thank you.

Mr. Kumar, I have been to the bank.

One day, I am sure Mr. Guvendas, the manager,

will say to me, "Sister Ludmila, this week there is no money,"

but not today.

I have the money and we have rain!

So many patients, too.

Sister Ludmila, this is Miss Manners.

I brought her to the Sanctuary because she wants to meet you.

- To meet me? - How do you do?

Miss Manners works at the Mayapore General Hospital.

But if she comes to help us here, we won't tell,

shall we, Sister?

- You wish to help? - If you'd let me.

God tells us what we should do. How can I quarrel with him?

Aaaah.

What are you telling me?

You are telling me you have no time to learn?

I honestly believe it's wasting your time and mine.

To learn to speak to your own people?

And you are calling this a waste of time?

I say it is your life until now you have been wasting.

Let us begin again.

- Hello. - Oh, hello.

I am willing, Kumar, when you want.

You should be feeling shame

to be speaking always in the language of a foreign power.

Who was that?

Chap called Pandit Baba.

Tried to teach me Hindi once, but I gave it up.

'Cause his breath smelled of garlic?

Yes, I told you.

Quite honestly because I was pretty awful, too.

Are you going back to work?

No, just leaving.

Would you come with me to Subath Chand's?

I've got to look at some photographs he's taken of me.

For Lady Manners, my aunt in Rawalpindi.

It's her idea of a birthday present for me

so she told Lili.

I said, "How ghastly! Won't they be terrible?"

But it's what she wants, so come and help me choose?

Chuck out the worst, I mean.

If you want.

And after, you can come and have tea at the MacGregor House.

- Have you got your bike? - It's at the office.

We can cycle back together, then.

Yes. Yes, right-o.

There now. Did you see that, dear?

Hari, I think it's going to rain again.

Really?

Good.

I say, it's really coming down.

- Better take cover! - Where?

Bibighar!

Come on!

I'll find some cover at the bottom!

- All right? - No!

Oh!

Oh, gosh! That was lucky.

It might have caught us in the middle of nowhere.

What is this place?

Don't you know?

You've never been inside the Bibighar?

Oh! I suppose that's like living in London

and never getting to see the Tower.

Brrrr!

Oh!

Oh, mind if I smoke?

So, when did you come here, then?

Oh, Lili brought me.

I don't know. Soon after I came to Mayapore.

Because of all the stories of the ghosts

and the building that used to be here.

And the MacGregor House and...

Don't you honestly know?

No. Honestly.

"Bibighar" means the house of the women.

You must know that at least.

It was built about 200 years ago by the Prince of Mayapore,

somewhere nearby to enjoy himself and keep his courtesans.

Well, then, a Scotsman called MacGregor appeared on the scene,

an ex-East India merchant, and he built another house,

the MacGregor House.

Well, by now the old prince was dead

and his sons didn't have so many courtesans, I suppose.

Anyway, the Bibighar was empty.

So that when MacGregor fell in love

with a beautiful young Indian girl,

he installed her here,

just around the corner from his home.

And that was fine, till one day

he called unexpectedly

and found her in the arms of her young lover,

a boy of her own race.

And, uh...

he killed them both and burned down the Bibighar.

And it's the ghost of those young lovers

that people think they see.

And MacGregor, too, I shouldn't wonder,

if he feels at all sorry by now.

How typically Indian.

That's just what I thought.

And I don't believe a word.

Neither did I. I do now, though.

What? Even the ghosts?

If you think of the history of us in India --

the British, I mean --

there must be ghosts.

Hundreds of thousands, probably.

And I hate it.

What?

India.

I hate all the beggars and the crowds

and the heat and the bugs...

and most of all myself for being black and English.

I'm sorry, I don't know what to say.

I hated India at first, too.

Doesn't it get better?

I didn't mean to talk about it.

I knew, really.

Yes, of course.

You're not going to chuck them away, as you said?

The photographs you didn't want from Subath Chand?

Why?

I just thought one was rather good.

I'd like to have it.

Oh, yes, of course.

But they're all pretty ghastly, actually.

Do you know which one it was?

Yes.

This one.

Sure you don't mind?

They're only proofs.

They'll all get thrown away

except the one we chose for Auntie Ethel.

Now it's stopped.

So we can go.

Actually, I don't think I'd better come

to the MacGregor House with you.

Why not? Lili isn't there.

Not that it would matter.

No, I know it wouldn't matter.

I should go home, thanks all the same.

I'll be at the Sanctuary again on Tuesday.

As usual.

If you come round.

Otherwise, I don't know when I'll see you or how.

Oh, I'll see you. Bound to see you.

Somewhere around.

Goodbye, ghosts!

Aunt Lili.

How are your eyes? Better without the specs now?

Oh.

Yes. I think they are.

If you do the exercises every day --

What were you saying?

Do English people ever go inside the temple?

I mean, can you?

The local temple, I wanted to see inside.

I've never heard of anyone.

It's not an interesting temple, so tourists never come.

I'm not sure an English girl would be allowed.

But I can ask.

One of the teachers at the Tech would know.

Don't bother: I can ask Hari. He should know.

Yes, well, you could do that, I suppose.

- I thought I'd try -- - I wonder --

Sorry.

I rather wondered if you were getting bored.

You never go out now

except for bashing off to that Sanctuary place.

Or do you go there only to meet --

I'm not bored at all.

Just tired of my heavy duties at the hospital

watching the Indian orderlies emptying the bedpans.

And I'm meeting Ronald Merrick for dinner at the club tomorrow.

Honestly, Auntie.

Thanks for bringing me home, Ronald.

I was going to ask if you'd care to come round to my place again.

On Saturday, if you're free.

Oh, no, I can't. Not Saturday.

I've got something organized, more or less.

A visit to the local temple.

Oh.

Who's taking you?

Mr. Kumar?

Yes, he is.

Why? Had you heard?

Well, not exactly.

People have started talking.

Oh, have they?

You shouldn't be surprised.

It's always tricky going out and about with Indians.

Especially at times like these.

'Cause there's a war?

But I thought we were fighting the Japanese.

Then you'd better watch Congress and how it votes

on Mr. Gandhi's "Quit India" resolution.

It could be a nasty shock.

I tried to warn you about this before.

Yes, I know.

What I don't see is what it has to do with Mr. Kumar.

It might have quite a lot.

He hasn't a very good reputation.

He tries to make capital out of the fact

that he lived in England for a while,

which he seems to think makes him English for some reason.

You know what I feel for you.

It's because of that I haven't said anything about this before.

But I feel it's my duty to warn you against this...

association with Mr. Kumar.

Oh, stop acting like a policeman.

Well, it's partly a police matter.

Kumar was under suspicion at one time.

And still is.

But you must know about all that.

I know nothing at all.

And I'm not interested.

I met Hari here as Aunt Lili's guest

and that's good enough for me.

And I'd be grateful if people would stop telling me

who I can have as my friends and who I can't,

especially if the only trouble is the color of their skins.

That's the oldest trick in the game,

pretending color doesn't matter.

It does matter, it's basic, it matters like hell.

I'm sorry.

I've put it very badly.

But I can't help it.

The idea...

revolts me.

It's all right.

It's all right, Ronald, I understand.

Thanks for the meal, and for bringing me home.

Lady Chatterjee's.

Miss Manners.

Yes.

Now she's here. Please, hold on.

Madam.

Is it for me? I've got to dash.

Mr. Kumar, Madam.

Oh.

Oh, thank you, Ramaswami.

Hari?

Yes, I had your note.

About the temple.

Any chance?

Well, I had to speak to my uncle.

Romesh Chand, yes.

Oh, that's wonderful. Thank you.

That's if you really want to go.

Well, of course I want to go. That's why I asked.

Good.

Come here to dinner at the MacGregor and then we'll go on.

I don't think I can.

- Then come for a drink after. - I'll try.

Yes, all right.

I'll expect you in a tonga, about 6:00?

Okay.

- Hari? - Yes?

Sure you don't mind?

No. Just surprised.

Surprised at what?

At you wanting to visit a temple.

But I'd love to.

Yes, tomorrow, then.

Come to the coffee shop.

You are going to the temple to make puja?

Someone wants to see it.

Someone?

Come on, Vidya.

What's this idea you have going with English memsahibs?

I could show you some real girls.

How shall we make you a good Indian

if you carry on like this?

What is a good Indian?

Really. I want to know.

Well-trained fighting manpower

and their armored fighting vehicles

for the defense of India, and, when the time comes,

to take part in the Allied counteroffensive against Japan.

Japan's first rush carried right through

to the threshold of India and Australia,

while Hitler hacked his way through from the West.

That was the moment Congress chose

to call upon Britain to quit.

To agree would, indeed, have been quitting.

Quitting China, quitting Russia,

quitting our empire and all our allies --

really quitting India.

Thank you.

What for?

For taking me to do puja.

Can I have one?

If you want. They're Indian.

You're smoking again.

Yes, like a good Indian.

I smoke beedies, I do puja.

And I know what else you've been trying to do since you came.

You've been trying to put me off, haven't you?

Put off? What do you mean, put off?

Put off, put off -- put me off you.

Like everybody else has tried.

- Oh, yes? Who's that? - Everybody.

People like Ronald Merrick.

He thinks you're a bad bet, by the way.

Well, he should know, I suppose.

Good bet, bad bet -- what am I supposed to be, a race horse?

I don't care a damn what Merrick thinks of me.

I don't see why you should. After all, you've never met him.

- I should say I've met him. - Have you?

If that's what you call it.

How?

When I was drunk, and he picked me up at the Sanctuary.

Picked you up?

That was Ronald?

Ronald himself, when you were arrested?

Of course it was him.

Why not?

I thought you knew.

No.

You'd better tell me.

Tell you what?

What happened?

They found me on the wasteland by the river.

Sister Ludmila and her friends.

Drunk as a coot.

And in the morning, Merrick showed up.

While I was washing at the pump.

He shouted at me in Hindustani, so I answered back,

which gave his henchman a chance to beat me up.

Then they took me in for questioning.

I can't believe...

What did you think when Lili asked you here to her party?

I was amused.

Were you?

You must have known.

That day in War Week when you were with your friends

and came up and did your Lady Bountiful.

He was watching.

You knew that, didn't you?

Did that amuse you, Hari?

And did it just amuse you every time we'd been together.

Yes, you could put it that way if you want.

But you've been very kind, and I'm grateful.

I didn't mean anything as kindness.

I didn't want...

Good night, Hari.

Good night.

Hello. Long time, no see.

Not been around much.

Can I get you the other half?

I'll buy you one.

No, I'm still on duty, as it happens.

I've spent most of the day with the Deputy Commissioner.

And Brigadier Reid.

We heard this afternoon

Congress Committee voted in favor of Gandhi's resolution.

The little man in the dhoti

has called on his followers to do or die.

So, we'll see.

And is it going to be exciting?

That depends.

The government has its own plans, of course.

Could mean strikes, arson, civil disturbance.

That's why I'm here.

We're making arrangements to bring women and children

together at the club if things get rough.

So, uh... you'll know where to come.

And Lili?

There will be similar arrangements

at the other club for them.

Oh.

How did you enjoy your visit to the temple?

Oh, all right.

A bit of a racket, though.

But you know.

You can't go anywhere

without digging out the baksheesh, can you?

Yes, that's true.

- Good night, Mr. De Souza. - Good night, Sister.

Mr. Kumar?

Good evening, Sister.

Clinic is over.

No one is here but myself and Mr. De Souza.

Will you come in?

Thanks.

As I tell you, no one is here tonight.

Miss Manners did not come.

No. She comes on Tuesdays. As a rule.

So it is I you have called to see.

Perhaps to talk?

Yes.

I've been drinking.

No, not like the night you picked me up.

On the wasteland by the river.

Such anger in your face.

Such passion of rejection.

Was it hate or love?

So I prayed for you.

And after, when I saw you here together,

I thought that it was love, and that she loved you, too.

You thought it was for Miss Manners

that I was drunk that night?

- It was not? - No.

And tonight again?

No. It was the day I saw a chap called Colin Lindsey.

My closest friend.

We were at school together.

After I came out to India, we swapped letters.

Rather a lot at first, and then we lost touch.

Not many letters after the war began.

He became a captain.

Said, if his regiment ever came to India,

he'd come to Mayapore and see me.

Just like the old days, you see?

He hadn't the least idea how I was living.

I'd never told him.

Thought of me as a raja.

Hunting tigers, sticking pigs.

Well, I never heard from him again.

Except his regiment did come to India.

Even to Mayapore. And I did see him.

One afternoon on the Maidan.

I'd gone there to report a cricket match for the Gazette.

Someone hit a four and they ran.

And then I saw him.

Colin.

In his uniform, but just the same.

Colin!

And then he saw me -- and didn't see me.

In my bapu clothes under my topi, he didn't realize

there was one black face he should remember.

Well, didn't you know -- we all look alike!

I'd become invisible.

Even to him.

Invisible.

Kumar. I say, Kumar!

Look here, you fellows, this is Mr. Kumar.

Hari Kumar.

Very pukka, very public school.

I say, I say.

They all laughed at me.

And, in truth, I was ridiculous.

An Indian, incapable of being anything except an Indian.

Something totally alien to me.

Ho ho!

So I went, and we drank a lot of homemade hooch,

in a hut near the road by the Bibighar Bridge,

where I'd began to learn to be an Indian.

And they burnt the symbol of my English shame.

And then they carried me home.

Well, that's what Vidya told me later.

I didn't know.

They carried me almost to my door.

Because they were too ashamed and didn't want to see my aunt.

Mrs. Sengupta.

And I must have wandered off onto the waste ground,

where you found me -- There it is.

But you were foolish.

When Mr. Merrick came here looking for a wanted man,

and you answered him, so English, so superior.

"Is your name Coomer or Kumar?"

Actually, it doesn't matter. Either will do.

"Do you know anyone

that's been convicted of political offenses?"

No.

"Do you know anything of Pandit Baba?"

Oh, yes, Superintendent Sahib, I certainly do.

Who is this -- Pandit Baba?

A guru who smells of garlic --

and obviously to Merrick of something worse.

"Where did you get drunk?" I shan't tell you.

"Why did you get drunk?"

Ah, that I will.

Because I hate this whole damn stinking country.

The people who live in it and the people who run it, too.

And that goes for you, too, Merrick.

You told him that?

Just so?

That he will not forget.

Or forgive?

He wants to be so British.

Just doing his job.

When we parted, he shook hands.

"Goodbye, Kumar. Keep out of trouble."

And I have.

Obviously, Sister.

Only a little drunk.

Was that the telephone? Is it for me?

Lady Chatterjee, Madam.

No, I'm all right.

It was really to be expected, after all.

Yes, I shall be here.

Namaskar.

That was Judge Menen.

They arrested the Mahatma this morning at 4:00.

And a few of the chaps around here.

You remember Vassi, my lawyer?

He's one.

One knows about these things, of course.

All the same, when it happens...

a bit of a shock.

You're going to work today?

Sorry, yes. It's my Sunday on.

A big question mark

has been written across the face of India.

With Japan knocking at India's gates,

the Congress Party, led by the now-interned Gandhi

and President Azad, made use of hooligans and agitators

to press for a mass civil disobedience campaign.

Disturbances broke out in many cities,

but a strong government and the fine work

of the Indian police greatly helped to curb the outbreaks.

Demonstrators flooded the public parks for mass meetings

presided over by orators who by no means

represent the vast majority of India's millions.

Every effort was made to prevent bloodshed,

but the lawless element found it a grand opportunity

to run loose and stir up trouble.

Hello, Babs.

Last job of the day.

May not be, actually.

Where do they keep wound dressings?

Uh, bottom left.

There's a bit of a flap on. Matron's looking for you.

They brought in a missionary lady

who was attacked on the road.

Who by?

What do you mean?

They found her on the roadside between here and Tanpur.

Sitting in the rain nursing an Indian schoolmaster

who'd been with her in the car, apparently.

They'd been attacked by a gang of rioters,

and the man was dead.

I know what I'd do if I got my hands on them.

Anyone who trusts an Indian is a bloody fool if you ask me.

Anyway, Matron wants you

to sit with her till the relief comes on.

They've cleaned her up a bit.

She's in the side ward of number 3.

Miss Crane.

♪ Above the bright blue sky

♪ A friend who never changes

♪ Whose love will never die

♪ Our earthly friends

♪ May fail us... ♪

There was nothing I could do.

Nothing.

♪ There's a friend

♪ For little children

♪ Above the bright blue sky

♪ A friend who never

♪ Changes

♪ Whose love will never die

♪ Our earthly friends may fail us ♪

♪ And change...

Miss Crane?

Oh. There you are.

I'm most grateful...

for all this.

Is my luggage there, do you know?

Yes, it is.

I've been wondering if I brought the sweets.

To give the children.

Would you mind?

Of course.

It isn't locked...

treasures on earth.

You'll find them in a tin.

Yes! Here they are.

Boiled sweets.

For the school children.

They're here, all right.

Is this your picture?

Let me see.

Oh, yes.

That's mine.

Do you know what it is?

The jewel in the crown.

I use it to teach

the children English.

The queen is Victoria

on her throne.

The sky is blue.

The sky is blue.

This is the queen.

The queen.

That is her crown.

The queen, the crown.

They usually think the jewel is the one the prince is offering.

But I tell them, no.

The jewel is India, you see.

It's an allegory.

The jewel is India.

You mustn't talk too much. You'll get tired.

Disraeli's there.

1877.

The year he persuaded her

to call herself

"Empress of India."

It was a sort of promise.

A promise...

not fulfilled.

There's nothing I can do, you see.

Please, Miss Crane.

Please rest.

It was too late.

I stayed with her about an hour after that.

She was quieter then.

I meant to get here in time for clinic.

That's why I'm late.

There were rumors in the black town today.

No one has come.

No one?

I must get home, then.

Before it's dark.

It would be wise, I think.

Though good to talk.

Do you know this image? The image of the dancing Shiva?

Dancing in a circle of cosmic fire.

The circle of creation and destruction.

Of dark and light.

And wholeness.

He's got wings.

It gives you a sort of flying feeling.

As if you could leap into the dark with him

and not come to any harm.

What was she trying to tell me?

What did she say about a promise that was not fulfilled

between us and India.

Miss Crane spoke of this?

"There's nothing I can do."

Perhaps she didn't mean that.

It's something I've been thinking.

About a leap in the dark?

About us and India.

Ha.

I'm really dreaming.

I must be half asleep, I think.

It's stopped raining, anyway.

And the sun is out.

You must be careful.

It will be dark soon.

There are rumors of trouble. One hears of things in Tanpur.

Oh, I shall be all right. Even if it rains.

Goodbye, Sister.

Goodbye. And God go with you.

Goodbye!

Lady Chatterjee, I'm sorry to disturb you.

Are you all right?

Why, yes. It's good of you to be concerned, though, Mr. Merrick.

Will you come in?

Uh, no, thank you.

I expect you've come to see Daphne.

But she's at the club.

Yes, that's what they said at the hospital.

But she isn't there.

Oh. Isn't she?

Well, then I wond--

I'm sure she's all right.

Is she with Hari Kumar?

No, I don't think so. I'm sure she isn't.

At this time of night, where can she be?

She'll be in soon. Come in and have a drink.

No, I don't think I should, thanks.

There's rather a lot going on.

Oh, is it serious?

It seems to be.

What a damn mess!

Some of the people you know are locked up.

Mr. Desai and Srinivasan.

Yes, I know.

But here I am.

You know, I asked her to marry me.

Didn't she tell you?

No. She never told me.

And you've no idea where she can be?