146 THE PURBHOO 



nor could he condescend to be a farmer, for his 

 father was a kshutriya. So the gods had given 

 him the pen, and he was a writer — not a secretary, 

 but a humble quill-driver. But when the Portu- 

 guese and then the British came upon the scene, 

 not ruling by word of mouth, like the native rajahs, 

 but inditing their orders and keeping records, the 

 Purbhoo saw an open door and went in. 



Then the Brahmin woke up, for he saw that he 

 was in evil case. The spirit of the British raj was 

 falling like a blight and a pestilence upon the means 

 by which he had lived, drying up the fountains of 

 religious revenue and slowly but surely blighting 

 the luxuriance of that pious liberality which always 

 took the form of feeding holy men. He found that 

 he must work for his bread whether he liked it or 

 not, and the only implement of secular work that 

 would not soil his priestly hand was the pen. And 

 this was already taken up by the Purbhoo, who 

 carried -himself haughtily under the new regime and 

 showed no mind to make way for the holier man. 

 Hence sprang those bitter enmities and jealousies 

 which have done so much to lighten the difficulties 

 of our position. 



The British Government has often been accused 

 of acting on the maxim, Divide et impera. It is a 

 libel. We do not divide, for there is no need. 

 Division is already there. We have only to 

 rejoice and rule. How well and justly we rule all 

 the world knows, but only the initiated know how 



