CHAPTER I
關燈
小
中
大
ExceptfortheMarabarCaves—andtheyaretwentymilesoff—thecityofChandraporepresentsnothingextraordinary.EdgedratherthanwashedbytheriverGanges,ittrailsforacoupleofmilesalongthebank,scarcelydistinguishablefromtherubbishitdepositssofreely.Therearenobathing-stepsontheriverfront,astheGangeshappensnottobeholyhereindeedthereisnoriverfront,andbazaarsshutoutthewideandshiftingpanoramaofthestream.Thestreetsaremean,thetemplesineffective,andthoughafewfinehousesexisttheyarehiddenawayingardensordownalleyswhosefilthdetersallbuttheinvitedguest.Chandraporewasneverlargeorbeautiful,buttwohundredyearsagoitlayontheroadbetweenUpperIndia,thenimperial,andthesea,andthefinehousesdatefromthatperiod.Thezestfordecorationstoppedintheeighteenthcentury,norwasiteverdemocratic.Thereisnopaintingandscarcelyanycarvinginthebazaars.Theverywoodseemsmadeofmud,theinhabitantsofmudmoving.Soabased,somonotonousiseverythingthatmeetstheeye,thatwhentheGanges
