The other, that to most men, and
most nations, religion means nothing more than antagonism to some other
religion. Witness Ulster in Ireland; and witness, equally, Ulster in
India.

IV

ANGLO-INDIA

From the gallery of the high hall we look down on the assembled society
of the cantonment. The scene is commonplace enough; twaddle and tea,
after tennis; "frivolling"--it is their word; women too empty-headed and
men too tired to do anything else. This mill-round of work and exercise
is maintained like a religion. The gymkhana represents the "compulsory
games" of a public school. It is part of the "white man's burden." He
plays, as he works, with a sense of responsibility. He is bored, but
boredom is a duty, and there's nothing else to do.

The scene is commonplace. Yes! But this afternoon a band is playing. The
music suits the occasion. It is soft, melodious, sentimental. It
provokes a vague sensibility, and makes no appeal to the imagination. At
least it should not, from its quality. But the power of music is
incalculable. It has an essence independent of its forms. And by virtue
of that essence its poorest manifestations can sink a shaft into the
springs of life. So as I listen languidly the scene before me detaches
itself from actuality and floats away on the stream of art. It becomes
a symbol; and around and beyond it, in some ideal space, other symbols
arise and begin to move. I see the East as an infinite procession. Huge
Bactrian camels balance their bobbing heads as they pad deliberately
over the burning dust. Laden asses, cattle, and sheep and goats move on
in troops. Black-bearded men, men with beard and hair dyed red, women
pregnant or carrying babies on their hips, youths like the Indian
Bacchus with long curling hair, children of all ages, old men
magnificent and fierce, all the generations of Asia pass and pass on,
seen like a frieze against a rock background, blazing with colour,
rhythmical and fluent, marching menacingly down out of infinite space on
to this little oasis of Englishmen. Then, suddenly, they are an ocean;
and the Anglo-Indian world floats upon it like an Atlantic liner. It has
its gymnasium, its swimming-bath, its card-rooms, its concert-room. It
has its first and second class and steerage, well marked off. It dresses
for dinner every night; it has an Anglican service on Sunday; it flirts
mildly; it is bored; but above all it is safe. It has water-tight
compartments. It is "unsi