LAWRENCE: No, sir.
LUMSDEN: Yes.
LAWRENCE: You lied to me. You went out of your way to kill the cow, knowing all the time that the sensitivities of the people there would be outraged by this.
LUMSDEN: No.
LAWRENCE: Get out of my sight. I don’t like liars. This time it’s only a warning. Next time you will be discharged.
LUMSDEN: (Rubbing his cheek.) I shall have to tell Mr Currie about this.
LAWRENCE: Get out!
LUMSDEN: (Leaving.) Striking an officer is a serious offence, Mr Lawrence. Calcutta is not going to like it.
LAWRENCE: Get out!
(Exit Lumsden.)
Wait!
(Lumsden re-enters.)
You had better go to the downstairs room. There’s a full guard outside. Don’t move out if you value your life.
(Exit Lumsden.)
Gentlemen, you serve your country and your conduct must reflect this.
EDWARDES: If I may be allowed to speak, sir, I think this is a bit harsh on poor Lumsden.
LAWRENCE: Mr Edwardes, I am less concerned with the integrity of Mr Lumsden than with the fact that there are at least a thousand persons outside who would be glad to have his head. Fortunately Indians are civilized people and don’t resort to violence easily. In another land, we would have been burnt alive.
ABBOT: The natives aren’t Christians, sir. Their odious religion has thousands of ugly Gods and rituals. We aren’t expected to know them all, are we?
EDWARDES: Yes sir, we should keep as far away from them as possible.
LAWRENCE: Enough! I didn’t think I’d hear such disgusting nonsense from two of my best men. Have your forgotten perhaps that these people are also human beings?
(Pause.)
You were selected from the entire East India Company. Each of you has something which puts him above all others who have come to make their fortunes in India. You are incapable of becoming ‘pukka Indians’ …
SHER SINGH: Wah, what’s a ‘pukka Indian?’
LAWRENCE: A pukka Indian is an Englishman full of curry and bad Hindustani, with a fat liver and no brains, but with a self-sufficient idea that no one can know India, except through a long experience of brandy, gin, gram-fed mutton, and cheroots.
SHER SINGH: Wah, wah! A real burra Sahib!
LAWRENCE: The average Englishman thinks that he’s doing someone a favour by being in India. But I thought you were here because you liked being here. If I’m mistaken, let me know now. Better still, get out of India by the next boat.
Undeceive yourselves, if you think by remaining in India you will shoulder someone’s burden and march into a hero’s sunset. Rest assured, Mr Abbot, the Indian doesn’t need anyone’s shoulder to lean upon. He can do without the Englishman, who as soon as he sets foot in India eternally pines for London fogs and Surrey greens. Your mission to civilize ‘the crafty Hindu’ will only result in his losing faith in the English. If you have any doubt, go, for God’s sake, go to your ‘fresh mornings,’ ‘gorgeous noons,’ and ‘dewy eves.’
(Pause.)
What do you say, Sher Singh?
SHER SINGH: What can I say, sir? I’m a ‘filthy, black nigger.’
LAWRENCE: Don’t be so bloody sensitive!
SHER SINGH: (Hurt.) I’m not.
LAWRENCE: You Indians are the most touchy people in the world. Sometimes it’s so difficult to talk to you. One’s always afraid of hurting you. You know Sher Singh, there’s a hunting bird who is so sensitive … even if you are standing a hundred feet behind it and you move an inch, its neck will cringe. An Indian is like that. One has to be so careful with you.
SHER SINGH: I’m not like that.
LAWRENCE: No, you’re not. I’m sorry.
(Pause.)
I’m tired now.
(They get up to leave.)
EDWARDES: (Leaving.) We don’t want to leave sir.
(Lawrence smiles. Then nods. All leave, except Sher Singh and Lawrence.)
SHER SINGH: You’re tired, Larins. You haven’t eaten anything.
LAWRENCE: I’m not hungry.
(Shuts his eyes. Long pause.)
I feel suddenly at ease.
(Edwardes re-enters and gives a sealed note to Sher Singh.)
EDWARDES: Urgent message for Sher Singh.
SHER SINGH: (Opening it.) You’ve a visitor, Larins Sahib.
EDWARDES: Visitor? Who’s it at this time?
LAWRENCE: Whoever it is, send him in.
SHER SINGH: It is not a ‘he,’ and it wants to see you alone.
EDWARDES: Who is it?
LAWRENCE: That’s all right. Send it in.
EDWARDES: (Flabbergasted.) But, sir, you mustn’t see just anyone like this. You must observe proper protocol and security before you see a stranger.
LAWRENCE: (Smiling.) Strangeress, you mean?
EDWARDES: (Confused.) Why yes, sir. Sir?
LAWRENCE: My dear Edwardes, the British Empire wasn’t built on ‘proper security.’
(Pause.)
Send her in.
(Smiling.)
Gentlemen, if you’ll now excuse me.
(They withdraw. A veiled woman, tall and stately, slowly and gracefully walks in. She is dressed in the courtesan’s brocaded and ostentatious clothes.)
RANI: (Salaaming.) Zubheda Begum, the singing queen of Benaras offers her salaams and services to the Resident Sahib.
LAWRENCE: (Elaborately returning her salaams.) We welcome the Begum
(Pause.)
But we are at a loss to remember if we asked for the charming favours of the Singing Queen.
RANI: The widespread fame of the Resident attracts the Queen as the flickering light from an earthern lamp attracts the moth of the night.
LAWRENCE: (Obviously enjoying himself.) Such flattery would make even the Gods blush.
RANI: Truth is not flattery, Resident Sahib.
LAWRENCE: Then to be alive, certainly is, Begum Sahiba.
RANI: Not to one who deserves it.
LAWRENCE: No one can possibly be deserving of so charming a presence.
RANI: Immortals humble all presences.
LAWRENCE: Humility humbles even mortals.
RANI: ‘Mortals should not presume to become immortal,’ said the wise man.
LAWRENCE: ‘It is mortals who become immortal,’ replied the fool.
RANI: The Resident Sahib is accomplished.
LAWRENCE: The Begum Sahiba is generous.
RANI: Not any more than the Resident Sahib.
(Pause.)
But the brave and mighty Angrez seems to be afraid.
LAWRENCE: ‘Fear is only human,’ said the jackal.
RANI: ‘But the brave are not afraid,’ said the lion.
LAWRENCE: ‘Even the bravest are afraid of beautiful women,’ said the fox.
RANI: The Angrez gives and takes
