This chapter is less about India than it is about Tyson's love for Martha.
What's important in this sad little short story is:
- Indians' views on foreigners and vice versa
- Tyson's love for Martha
- the four types of foreigners - lovers, haters, half-haters and question marks (people whose opinion others don't know about)
- about the NARRATOR, not author
Summary:
"Stop it, Martha! Stop it at once!" "Good evening, Mr Tyson." "Oh, hello." He had not recognised me, but seeing I was a Sikh, added, "Good evening, Mr Singh.
"Too many natives about the place for the likes of Kenneth Tyson." The Punjabi's wife took up the theme with greater vigour.
Someone quoted Tyson's opinion on Indian sculpture: "Them eight-armed monstrosities, you can have them, and with my compliments!" As to Indian literature, Tyson echoed the views of his distinguished compatriot—"One shelf of a library in Europe is worth more than the entire learning of the East.
"We almost believed you were going to settle down here and take on Indian nationality." "No ruddy fear!" replied Tyson, waving his hand in farewell.
*** I first met Tyson in the bar of the Gymkhana Club sometime in the autumn of 1947—a couple of months after India had gained Independence.
They have no genius, no comprehension of mind, no politeness of manner, no kindness of fellow-feeling, no ingenuity or mechanical invention in planning their handicrafts, no skill or knowledge in design or architecture; they have no horses, no good flesh or bread in their bazaars, no baths or colleges, no candles, no torches, not a candlestick...." The English translators of the memoirs went out of their way to echo Babar's animus against India.
It is on the antiquated thunderbox that the White man has the blackest thoughts about India." Tyson turned around; he had obviously sensed that he was being discussed.
Wouldn't that be nicer?" "But you can't accumulate the passage money." "Oh that! Who cares for a piddling passage!" After some years people stopped asking why Tyson did not go home.
Come along, Simba." Thereafter I saw Tyson almost every evening in Lodhi Park.
*** One summer evening I happened to be visiting an English friend when Tyson dropped in for a drink.
"She's quite happy as long as she has some place to stick her nose into," remarked Tyson, looking proudly at his dog.
'My deah, I'd rather scrub the floors in me own bed-sitter in Tooting Bec than live in one of them ruddy Oriental palaces waited on hand and foot by a horde of black flunkeys!'." "Poor woman, she's had a hard time with someone or the other in her family going down with amoebic dysentery," pleaded the Bengali's wife.
"Well, Tyson, you are off at last," remarked one of his English friends.
The years passed without Tyson taking his home leave.
"Think how nice it would be in a country pub somewhere along the Thames near Richmond! I'd give my left arm to be back in old Blighty." Tyson had been through this before.
In the summer when she was away, people asked Tyson over for supper because they thought he was lonely.
Not a bad chap, Tyson; he accepts drinks from the blacks." No one took up the challenge.
Taking a stroll in the park? Lovely this time of the evening, isn't it? Oh, stop it, Martha!" Martha scampered back and plunged into the rat hole.
One of the haters, a species becoming very rare in this country." Tyson limped up to the bar.
I must get her home." As soon as he left, the discussion on Tyson was resumed with even greater animosity.
Tyson picked up his drink and limped towards our table.
Come along, Martha sweetie." The bitch would extricate herself, cock her head at her master as if pleading for 'just one more rat'; then have a quick sniff inside the hole, a loud snort outside and scamper off happily at her master's heels.
I did not see Tyson in Lodhi Park again.
Anyway there are all the remaining years of one's life." Tyson did not answer.
"I think you've got Tyson wrong," protested the Bengali.
"Here, Martha! Here, Flossie!" The bandicoot turned sharply and made for the road; its shrill tikkee, tikkee marking a sound trail.
Kenneth Tyson belonged to this category.
"You should meet his wife—a real British memsahib, if there is one!" She mimicked Mrs Tyson's accent.
"Good night, Mr Tyson.
Jennifer Tyson does not mince her words.
Tyson picked her up in his arms and brought her in.
"Don't you know Kenneth Tyson?" he demanded.
Tyson attracted attention as he entered.
Tyson preferred to stay in the one part which had many rat holes.
The footnote beneath the passage quoted above reads: "Babar's opinions regarding India are nearly the same as those of most Europeans of the upper classes, even at the present day." Fortunately, there were some foreigners who loved India with as much passion as that with which Babar and "most Europeans of the upper classes" hated it.
Tyson broke down and wept like a child.
Tyson lit his pipe.
Tyson leapt up from his chair and ran out.
Tyson became more solicitous in his address.
Like all ageing Dachshunds, Martha, who had never been mated, began to look chronically pregnant with a belly that barely cleared the ground.
What then kept him in India? And why did he forgo his home leave year after year? Did he have a native mistress tucked away somewhere? *** I found the answers a few months later.
Next come the 'half-haters' who dislike Indians but like the Indian landscape and the conditions of living: big bungalows, servants, shikaar, polo, etc.
Although he did not mix very much with us, he quite obviously liked living there because he never went home on leave." "Half-hater!" remarked the Punjabi lady.
And he was the first Englishman seen in the place since the Club had passed into Indian hands.
Martha shot backwards, ticked off Simba with a few effeminate yaps and then began to circle around him at breakneck speed.
Martha died with her large eyes fixed on her master.
He is quite willing to make friends with Indians." "Now, perhaps," hissed the Punjabi lady.
He was not going on leave; he had resigned his job and was leaving India for good.
His Dachshund busied itself ferreting for rodents while her master waited patiently by smoking his pipe and twirling the leash in his hand.
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