as appealed most strongly
to Indians of all classes.

Of all the Western inventions which we have brought to India, the
railway is certainly the most popular, perhaps because the modern love
of travel has developed largely out of the ancient practice, still
continued, of pilgrimages _en masse_ to popular shrines, near and far.
During the great days when the worship of Juganath reaches its climax
and half a million pilgrims pour into Puri from all parts of India, the
terminus of the branch-line from the Calcutta-Madras railway is busier
than Epsom Downs station on Derby Day. A big Indian railway station--the
Howrah terminus in Calcutta, the Victoria Terminus in Bombay, the
Central Station in Delhi--is in itself at all times a microcosm of
India. It is never empty, never silent by day or by night. It is always
alive, always crowded, always full of Indian sounds and smells. It is a
camping ground not only for those who are actually going to travel but
also for those who merely come to give their friends a send-off or to
greet them on arrival. No Indian of any position can be allowed to
depart or to arrive without a party of friends to garland him with
flowers, generally the crude yellow "temple" marigolds. The ordinary
Indian to whom time is of little value cares nothing for time-tables. He
goes to the station when he feels moved to do so, and waits there
patiently for the next train that will take him to his destination or
bring the friends he wants to meet. He does not in the least mind
waiting for two, three, or four hours--sometimes in more remote parts of
the country for the best part of twelve or even of twenty-four hours.
Only the Europeans and a few Western-educated Indians who have learnt
business habits ever think of "catching" a train. So the Indian railway
station has a constant and generally dense floating population that
squat in the day-time in separate groups, men, women, and children
together, according to their caste, hugging the slender bundles which
constitute their luggage, chattering and arguing, shouting and
quarrelling, as their mood may be, but on the whole wonderfully
good-humoured and patient. At night they stretch themselves out full
length on the ground, drawing their scanty garments well over their
heads and leaving their legs and feet exposed, or, if the air is chilly
and they possess a blanket, rolling themselves up in it tightly like so
many shrouded corpses in long and serried rows, till t