Alas, without me for thousands of years The Rose will blossom and the Spring will bloom, But those who have secretly understood my heart— They will approach and visit the grave where I lie.
He had seen the quatrain on the tomb of a Deccan king, and regarded it as profound philosophy—he always held pathos to be profound. The secret understanding of the heart! He repeated the phrase with tears in his eyes, and as he did so one of the pillars of the mosque seemed to quiver. It swayed in the gloom and detached itself. Belief in ghosts ran in his blood, but he sat firm. Another pillar moved, a third, and then an Englishwoman stepped out into the moonlight. Suddenly he was furiously angry and shouted: “Madam! Madam! Madam!”
“Madam, this is a mosque, you have no right here at all; you should have taken off your shoes; this is a holy place for Moslems.”
Still startled, the woman moved out, keeping the ablution-tank between them. He called after her, “I am truly sorry for speaking.”
“Yes, I was right, was I not? If I remove my shoes, I am allowed?”
“Of course, but so few ladies take the trouble, especially if thinking no one is there to see.”
“Oh, can I do you some service now or at any time?”
She was now in the shadow of the gateway, so that he could not see her face, but she saw his, and she said with a change of voice, “Mrs. Moore.”
“Mrs.——” Advancing, he found that she was old.
A fabric bigger than the mosque fell to pieces, and he did not know whether he was glad or sorry. She was older than Hamidullah Begum, with a red face and white hair. Her voice had deceived him.
“Mrs. Moore, I am afraid I startled you. I shall tell my community—our friends—about you. That God is here—very good, very fine indeed. I think you are newly arrived in India.”
“By the way you address me. No, but can I call you a carriage?”
“I have only come from the club. They are doing a play that I have seen in London, and it was so hot.”
“I think you ought not to walk at night alone, Mrs. Moore. There are bad characters about and leopards may come across from the Marabar Hills. Snakes also.”
She exclaimed; she had forgotten the snakes.
“For example, a six-spot beetle,” he continued, “You pick it up, it bites, you die.”