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Confronting Orientalism
Confronting Orientalism
A Self-Study of Educating through Hindu Dance

Sabrina D. MisirHiralall
Montclair State University, New Jersey, USA
A C.I.P. record for this book is available from the Library of Congress.

ISBN: 978-94-6351-189-6 (paperback)

ISBN: 978-94-6351-190-2 (hardback)
ISBN: 978-94-6351-191-9 (e-book)

Published by: Sense Publishers,

P.O. Box 21858,
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All Rights Reserved © 2017 Sense Publishers

No part of this work may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted

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executed on a computer system, for exclusive use by the purchaser of the work.
 PRAISE FOR
CONFRONTING ORIENTALISM

“Through a unique combination of postcolonial theory and self-study, Sabrina

MisirHiralall has developed important tools to help educators working in a variety
of pedagogical spaces with a range of audiences to decolonize their practices.
MisirHiralall uses her own life experiences as a Kuchipudi dance teacher as an
entry way into understanding the complex epistemological, ethical, and pedagogical
obstacles to overcoming colonizing stereotypes often at work when Westerners
approach Hindu traditions. In short, MisirHiralall’s research highlights the role
of contemplation and critical-self reflection in creating opportunities for true
intercultural relations that respect the epistemologies of traditionally marginalized
and stigmatized non-Western religions and cultures. This is essential theoretical and
practical research for a multicultural society that is grounded in first-person, lived
experience.”
– Tyson E. Lewis, Ph.D., Associate Professor of Art Education, University of
North Texas

“In her postcolonial self-study of confronting orientalism through Kuchipudi

Hindu classical dance pedagogy, Sabrina MisirHiralall responds to Said’s call for
cultural connection rather than separation and embraces his conceptualization of
the complexities of cultural forms in their hybrid, mixed, and impure states. Using
her own unique and hybrid voice through the sharing of her experiences and dance
pedagogy practices, she illustrates the postcolonial realities of teaching non-Hindus
about Hinduism and Indian culture. Most impressive is that MisirHiralall is walking
her talk through a thoughtful and lyrical self-study that is situated in the in-between:
between the mind and body, the gaze of the Other and the self, the Eastern and
Western worlds, and the fields of dance, religion, philosophy, cultural studies, and
teacher education.”
– Monica Taylor, Ph.D., Professor and Deputy Chair of the Department of
Secondary and Special Education, Montclair State University

“In MisirHiralall’s Confronting Orientalism, the reader is gifted with a rare glimpse
into a philosopher-educator’s wrestling with her teaching through the medium of
Hindu dance. This pedagogical self-study framed in the context of the challenges of
postcolonialism is a rigorously argued treatise but also an excellent example of self-
study methodology. All who think seriously about the context and impact of their
teaching in connection with their core values can benefit from reading of this book.”
– Michael D. Waggoner, Ph.D., Professor of Postsecondary Education, University
of Northern Iowa, Editor of Religion & Education
 Om Satchitananda Rupaaya
I dedicate this text to the feet of Satchitanand (Supreme Being).
My accomplishments are only through the blessings of Satchitanand.

Matridevo Bhava
I offer salutations to the feet of my mother.
Pitridevo Bhava
I offer salutations to the feet of my father.
Acharyadevo Bhava
I offer salutations to the feet of my Guru.
Atithidevo Bhava
I offer salutations to the feet of Guests, who are the readers of this text.
– Taittiriya Upanishad

I especially dedicate this text to my father,

Gorak Dat “Hansoo” Misir.
Daddy, may your soul find eternal bliss with Satchitanand.
Thank you for your eternal blessings.
I love you daddy.
 TABLE OF CONTENTS

Prefacexi

Chapter 1: Introduction: A Postcolonial Self-Study 1

Who Am I? 1
Why Do I Teach Non-Hindus? 5
My Body 8
About Kuchipudi 8
Orientalism10
Questions for This Project 13
Confronting Orientalism 15
A Postcolonial Self-Study 17
Said’s Method 19
Guiding Criteria for Self-Study 26
Data Collection 28
Writing Style 35
Summary36

Chapter 2: De-Orientalized Pedagogical Spaces 39

Introduction39
Overlapping Pedagogical Space: Edward Said 43
Hybridity: Homi Bhabha 57
Mirroring: Ashis Nandy 65
Implications for Educators across Disciplines 71

Chapter 3: The Gazes 73

Introduction73
Laura Mulvey: The Male Gaze 75
E. Ann Kaplan: The Imperial Gaze 79
David Morgan: The Sacred Gaze 83
De-Orientalized Educational Gaze and Orientalized Educational Gaze 86
Overall Implications 105

Chapter 4: Unveiling the Hidden Curriculum of Hindu Metaphysics 107

Introduction107
The Hidden Curriculum 109
Overlapping Pedagogical Space in the Classroom 113
Pedagogical Space of Hybridity at an Invited Lecture 118

ix
TABLE OF CONTENTS

Theatrical Space of Mirroring 121

Monism through the Tarangam Dance 126
Monotheism or Polytheism 134
Monism or Dualism 138
Returning to Otto 140

Chapter 5: Religious Epistemology with a Focus on the Ramayana 143

Introduction143
Religious Epistemology 145
Confronting Mythological Claims 149
A Historical Account 154
From History to Orientalism 158
Moving back to a De-Orientalized Curriculum 165

Chapter 6: Conclusion 167

Introduction167
Summary of Chapters 168
Contribution of Research 169
Limitations of Research 170
Criticisms172
Implications174
Future Research 175

References177

About the Author 187

Index189

x
 PREFACE

One evening during the Contemporary and Social Philosophy doctoral class that
Tyson Lewis taught at Montclair State University, my peers and I were asked to
think about final paper topics for the course. I was not sure where to begin. Tyson
advised me to begin with who I am, a faith-based Hindu dancer. He told me that I
should think about who my family is, who I am, and what that means for me as an
educator. From that point, the dissertation journey began. This text develops from
my larger dissertation project. Tyson worked diligently with me as my Dissertation
Chair on this manuscript. I consider Tyson to be a lifelong mentor as he continues to
advise me and helps me to navigate the world of academia.
I am grateful that I was a doctoral student at MSU when the Educational
Foundations department collaborated with the then joint Philosophy and Religion
Department to staff the Pedagogy and Philosophy doctoral program. I must
acknowledge the professors of the Philosophy and Religion Department who helped
me to grow as a scholar. They each taught me in a unique manner as I pursued my
doctoral studies. I am one of the last graduates of the Pedagogy and Philosophy
doctoral program at MSU.
Throughout my journey at MSU and the journey of writing this book, I gained
insight into who I am, where I come from, and where I am going. I learned a great
deal about myself in relation to my place in the world. As I journeyed from campus
to campus and conference to conference to present on Hinduism and dance, I learned
that there is a lack of religious diversity across our nation that causes a great deal of
misunderstanding. The basic foundational knowledge that I assumed college-aged
and middle-aged adults had on Hinduism proved to be missing in most cases. Thus,
I came to understand my role in sharing who I am as a faith-based Hindu dancer in
higher education.
First, I must seek the blessings of the Supreme Being. Without the blessings of
the Divine, I would not be able to move through the journey of life. I also request the
blessings of my parents, especially my deceased father whose soul I know blesses
me spiritually. In addition, I seek the blessings of my brother, a born Brahman pandit,
and my bouji, who is mother-like. I pursue the blessings of my ancestors and of my
family members. I seek the blessings of my Guruji (Spiritual Teacher) and Gurumaa.
To continue, I would like to acknowledge the dedication of my Dissertation
Committee who provided feedback on earlier versions of this manuscript when it
was in the form of a dissertation. Tyson Lewis, my abovementioned Dissertation
Chair, worked with me tirelessly on draft after draft of each chapter with the utmost
attention. My undergraduate students frequently tell me that they appreciate my
work ethic and I tell them that my mentor, Tyson, influences how I work. I would
send Tyson a chapter of my dissertation and often within the hour, he would send it

xi
PREFACE

back to me with intense revisions. He taught me to work efficiently with dedication.

In addition, Monica Taylor served on my Dissertation Committee as a self-study
research expert. Monica introduced me to the Self-Study of Teaching Practices SIG
of the American Education Research Association. Monica helped me to develop
my self-study methodology for the dissertation project and beyond. Also, Dorothy
Rogers, who at the time was Chair of the Department of Philosophy and Religion
at Montclair State University, served on my Dissertation Committee. Currently,
Dorothy serves as Chair of the now separate Religion Department at MSU. During
my time as a graduate student at MSU, I worked closely with Dorothy on several
projects. Aside from corresponding and conversing with me in person about my
research, Dorothy taught me how to serve as an administrator. Dorothy encouraged
me to work with her on several projects such as Women in the Tradition Then and
Now (WIT), Philosophy and Religion Club, and the Society for the Study of Women
Philosophers (SSWP). In fact, Dorothy invited me to present my first campus-wide
lecture and dance presentation at Montclair State University.
Although not on my Dissertation Committee, David Benfield from the then joint
Department of Philosophy and Religion was present for my Dissertation Defense.
David became a mentor from the time that we met. We spent many hours working
on departmental projects together, such as the Philosophy and Religion Club, when
I was a graduate student. Throughout writing my dissertation, I would often not
know where to start when I was going to write a chapter. I knew what the chapter
was going to be about but did not know how to frame it. David would talk to me for
at least an hour immediately before I began to draft each chapter. He asked pressing
questions to help me gain insight into how to frame my writing. David helped me to
develop a sense of confidence as I wrote with ease after conversing with him.
My professors at MSU nurtured me as a scholar and cared for me in a way that I
never thought educators at the college level would. I now as a professor maintain a
philosophy of education that has roots in my time as a graduate student at Montclair
State University. My undergraduate students, who are spread across campuses,
develop bonds with each other as scholars and friends. I am very grateful to have
such supportive students who look to me as a mentor and help one another. I sincerely
care for my students as my professors care for me. It is evident to me through my
experience that social harmony can exist when humans learn to care and love one
another. On this note, I humbly present to you this text, which I ask that you read
critically in the hopes of thinking about moving past the illusionary boundaries of
the West and the East and towards a social harmony that acknowledges each other
as a part of humanity.

xii
 CHAPTER 1

INTRODUCTION
A Postcolonial Self-Study

WHO AM I?

As I emerge from a Supreme Being as a human in this world, I consider it necessary

to fulfill my life’s purpose, which considers the legacy of my ancestors coupled with
future generations of the world. For this reason, it is imperative for me to relate a
de-Orientalized pedagogy, as an educator-dancer, that helps humanity to engage in
interreligious and intercultural relations. Before I introduce the goals of this project,
it is crucial for me to share a brief portion of my narrative to provide some insight
on how this endeavor developed. Although some of my experiences were indeed
traumatic, these experiences were central to the significance of this venture. Thus, it
is vital for me to share these vulnerable experiences to shed light on the urgency of a
need for humanistic considerations. This project is linked to humanistic development
that is an inevitable reality for individual beings in this world.
After I briefly introduce my personal narrative, I will move on to discuss
Kuchipudi Indian classical Hindu dance. I will then explain Edward Said’s (Said,
1999) theory of Orientalism (Said, 1978) as the central concept that informs this
project. To this extent, I will relate the questions for this project that develop based
on Orientalism. I aim to show how I will confront Orientalism as a Kuchipudi Indian
classical Hindu dancer. It is my hope that this introductory chapter will provide
insight on how my identity causes me to realize the urgent need for humanity to
think about the essentialness of interreligious and intercultural relations with a de-
Orientalized framework in mind.
If asked who am I, I would answer first by saying that I am a child of a Supreme Being.
For me, as I think of a Cosmic Father and a Cosmic Mother who are both Ardhanarishvar
(One), I would say that I am a child of Shivaji (The Śiva-purāṇa, 1969), the Supreme
Being in Hinduism who is the Cosmic Father and Durga Devi Ma (Vijnanananda, 1986)
who is the Cosmic Mother. This means that everything else beyond being a cosmic
human daughter is temporary for this life span. I do not aim to say that I am a celestial
being but rather what I am saying is that foremost, I acknowledge that I come from a
Supreme Being and hope to merge back to a Supreme Being upon death.1 I strongly
believe that my life has a meaningful purpose that is tied to my ancestry, which is why
I was born into the home chosen for me by the Supreme Being.
My temporary life on this earth officially began when I was born on the twenty-
sixth of June in Riverside General Hospital, which is now the Meadowlands Hospital,

1
CHAPTER 1

in Secaucus, New Jersey. Although, I cannot remember my time in my mother’s

womb, I do sense that it was spiritually filled. My mother and father prayed often
together with my brother as a family. Perhaps this influenced my development from
the time I was conceived. My parents are Choondai Misir, also known as “Sona,” and
Gorak Dat Misir, also known as “Hanso.” My elder brother, Pt.2 Bhisham Malcolm
Misir, who is commonly known as Pt. “Jito,” celebrated his birthday on the twentieth
of June a few days before I was born.
I am a light-brown-skinned American female of Guyanese and Indian descent with
long, black hair, and black eyes. Since I was a teenager, I always weighed about a
hundred pounds. As a woman of Guyanese and Indian descent, who is about five
feet three inches tall with long black hair, I feel vulnerable to exoticism because the
colonial gaze (Hunt & Lessard, 2002) looked upon Indian women as sexual creatures.
The Cantonment Act of 1864 (Tambe, 2009) regulated prostitution of Indian women
in colonial India. Indian women, who were assigned to serve British soldiers, became
the foreign object of the male fantasy. In addition, Asian woman are often depicted
as exotic in the media today. For this reason, non-Hindus might see me as exotic.
I do not use the terms “Hindu” and “non-Hindu” to indicate two absolute binaries.
On the contrary, I acknowledge that these terms are cultural distinctions that create a
dichotomy. These terms separate humanity into two distinct categories, which I do not
endorse. However, for the purposes of this project, I will use these terms to refer to the
false categories that developed in the colonial era based on the desire of colonialists to
civilize “Hindus” or “non-Christians” to “Christians.” Regardless of an individual’s
religious creed, these distinctions propagate division among humanity. With these
illusionary distinctions in mind, I will use the term “Hindu” to refer to those who
endorse a way of life according to the sacred religious scriptures of Hinduism such as
the Manu Smriti (Manu & Sastri, 1952), the Vedas (Hinduism, n.d.), the Ramayana
(Valmiki & Sastri, 1952), the Srimad Bhagavata Mahapurana (Goswami, Sastri,
& Prabhupada, 1971), and the Srimad Devi Bhagavatam (Vijnanananda, 1992), to
name a few, which are essentially ethical guides for humanity. I will use the term
“non-Hindu” to refer to those who do not engage in a way of life based on the sacred
religious Hindu scriptures. The religious scriptures do not label people as “Hindu” but
instead, whether one identifies as “Hindu” or not, individuals who practice a “Hindu”
way of life based on the religious scriptures are “Hindu.”
When I was two years old, my brother and I were faced with the death of our
father who passed away in our residence, which at the time was Thirteen Lord
Avenue in Bayonne, New Jersey. We lived near the First Street Park where a body
of water flowed. Although I have very few memories of my father, I do remember
his presence. Our family always sang Hindu bhajans (religious songs) together with
family friends. Oddly enough, I do remember my father’s voice and can see him
in my mind playing the harmonium (organ) and singing bhajans with my brother
playing the dholak (drum). When I pray daily, I feel connected to my father’s
eternal soul. It is as if he blesses me on a daily basis. I am at peace when I sense
this profound connection. I must thank my mother for guiding me to have this

2
 INTRODUCTION

experience. My mother taught me to pray ever since I was in her womb. She is a
faith-based Hindu whose devotion to the Supreme Being inspires me. My mother
remarried when I was about seven years old. Pooran Hoobraj became a father-figure
for me. We spent a great deal of time together when I was a child. He conveyed a
father-like love.
Around the age of two, I do remember my brother taking me to the First Street
Park everyday in the afternoon, my little tiny hand in his. I could still feel the warm
sun gently touch my face as if blessing my brother and me as we walked on the
sidewalk. My brother would push me for what seemed like hours on the swings. My
brother was my human protector growing up. Once when I was about two years old
at Thirteen Lord Avenue, I accidentally fell into a swimming pool in the backyard.
I remember climbing onto the wooden deck and trying to get hold of the floating toy
in the pool. That’s when I fell into the cold, water-filled swimming pool. My mother
screamed for my brother since she saw me. My fully clothed brother jumped into
the pool with a speed to save my life. I still remember the panicked look of fear on
his face, his arms around me, and the firm sound of his scolding voice. As a young
child, I never played near the pool without supervision again. I was not scared of the
water because my brother was always with me. My brother became a pandit around
the age of twenty as he began to intensively study sacred mantras.
My earliest memory with my mother was in daily prayer. During my early years,
every day my mother would always have me sit with her to pray. While most babies
probably were rocked to sleep with children’s lullabies, my mother sang to me in
a wooden rocking chair singing Hindu bhajans. I still feel my mother’s warm arms
around me while she sang to me as if she would give her life to protect me using her
faith in the Supreme Being as a shield. I currently sing many of the songs that my
mother sang to me when I was a young child. Ironically, when my brother married
my bouji (sister-in-law) when I was sixteen and they lived with my parents3 and me
for about a year, my bouji would sing Hindu chants to me in the evening before we
would go to sleep. Her voice is like the sound of soft, graceful “Devi” (a female
Hindu Goddess). Thus, it is quite fitting that her name as a human is “Devimatie.”
One of the first Hindu chants my bouji sang to me was, “Namah Shivaya Shankara
Bam Bhola Baba.” (Let us speak the name of Shivaji who is also known as the
Cosmic Shankara who dances to the beat of the drum.) It was as if she reminded me
that our family came from Ardhanarishvar and will return to Ardhanarishvar upon
death. Growing up, wherever my family was, my home always had the sound of a
Supreme Being. In fact, even though the family I grew up with has all branched into
separate residences, each of our respective homes still has the very same sound and
an even stronger presence of a Supreme Being. We all aim to attain moksha (merge
back to a Supreme Being) upon our death and reunite as a family in an eternal abode
of spiritual bliss. This is part of the reason why I dance Kuchipudi (Suresh, 2003).
I dance Kuchipudi Indian classical Hindu dance because it is a part of my
purpose in this world as a human. This is not something that I chose but rather
is what the Supreme Being chose for me. When I hear Kuchipudi music, I hear

3
CHAPTER 1

the rhythm of the universe. The sounds are controlled sounds that move through
time with the ability to penetrate my pores with the sound of the cosmos. There
is a divine energy that I feel in the sounds of the song. As I dance, I wear the
sacred Ghungaroos (bells) on my feet, which contribute to the interconnected
sound. There is an ambiance of intention for the sounds to accompany particular
moods for specific songs. For instance, the drumming and the loud cymbal-like
pinging sound in the powerful Mahishaasura Mardini Stotram (Śaṅkarācārya,
1994) depicts the divine energy of Durga Devi Maa’s thundering wrath, which
kills demonic entities. To some who are unfamiliar with Hinduism, this powerful
energy might seem frightening. However, to me, the sounds are a melodious
reminder that good will always triumph over evil as the world’s clock tick-tocks.
The divine energy of Durga Devi Maa will always prevail in the battle of the
demons that we encounter during the world’s existence.
I am a child of the Supreme Being who aims to seek moksha through the avenue
of Hindu dance. In other words, I dance Kuchipudi because I hope to attain moksha
and merge back to a Supreme Being upon my death from this world. Of course, I did
not realize this when my brother encouraged our mother to enroll me in a West Indian
(Guyanese) dance school when I was twelve years old. After a long discussion at the
breakfast table on a Saturday morning, my brother and mother agreed that I would
learn Indian classical Hindu dance. My naani (maternal grandmother) was harshly
against a dance education for me, because she feared it would corrupt me. After my
mother explained that I would learn strictly religious dance, then my naani felt at ease.
During the month of April at the age of twelve, my mother enrolled me for
dance classes with the Natraj Cultural Group, currently now the Natraj Center for
the Performing Arts.4 I started to learn the very basic framework of Hindu dance
from didi (sister)5 Teshrie Kalicharan. Teshrie was a student of my life-long dance
Guru, Smt. Sadhana Paranji. I use the term “Guru” (BharataMuni, 2000) to honor
my dance “teacher” as an individual who guides me towards a path of moksha
(liberation) through providing me with a Hindu education of dance. My usage of the
term “Guru” here is not to be confused with the sacred Guru Diksha (Grimes, 1996,
p. 117) sanskar (sacrament) that occurs when Hindus perform a sacred ritual where
their children officially begin a religious education under the guidance of a pandit.
My Guru Diksha Sanskar is with Pt. Maheshwar Tiwari, a respected Hindu pandit
whose ancestry is tied to mine. His grandfather, Pt. Ramphair Tiwari, was the Guruji
of my naani (maternal grandmother), Bhagwatie Shankar.6 My Guruji, Pt. Mahesh
told me to honor my dance “teacher” as my dance “Guru” because she will guide me
towards moksha through Hindu dance.
At any rate, I only wished to learn strict classical Hindu dance because I felt
connected to a Supreme Being as I started to learn the basics. Didi Teshrie noticed
that I did not want to dance contemporary Bollywood (Varia, 2012) dance. I did
not feel this strong connection to a Supreme Being when I danced Bollywood
dance. My body felt uncomfortable, even at a young age, with Bollywood dance.
There is a distinction here between religious dance and cultural dance. Bollywood

4
 INTRODUCTION

dance is more of a performance-based cultural dance form, whereas Hindu dance is

based on the religious scriptures. Soon, didi Teshrie told my mother to contact Smt.
Sadhana Paranji who would teach me strictly Hindu dance according to the ethics
of Hinduism. At the age of sixteen, after a few years of learning Bharatnatyam
(Bharata natyam, n.d.), which is the universal dance genre of Hinduism and across
regions of India, I began my life-long journey with my dance Guru, Smt. Sadhana
Paranji. After many years of learning Kuchipudi, my dance Guru along with my
primary spiritual Guruji, Pt. Maheshwar Tiwari, joined with family and friends to
view my Rangapravesam (dance graduation; debut performance) that marked the
beginning of my future as a Hindu dancer. I soon realized that there is a need to
teach non-Hindus about Hinduism through Hindu dance. I will now turn to focus on
why I feel there is an urgent need to educate non-Hindus about Hinduism through
Hindu dance.

WHY DO I TEACH NON-HINDUS?

I teach non-Hindus in an effort to confront the long legacy of colonialism and the
thriving phenomenon of Orientalism (Said, 1979), which I will elaborate on later
in this introduction. This is evident in my ancestral line. Although many Indians
remained in India, masses of Indians endured a forced migration (Roopnarine,
2011) to Guyana in South America after African slavery (Great Britain & Greville,
1828) ended in Guyana and there was fear of a labor shortage from Africans. At
that time, present-day “Guyana” was known as “British Guiana” (British Guiana,
1924). In 1966, Guyanese people gained independence from British rule. The
country became known as “Guyana” (Guyana, 1966). For the purposes of this
project, I will refer to “British Guiana” as “Guyana” because this is how I identify
the country – as a current independent nation free of British rule. When my fore-
parents arrived in Guyana, they were treated as cheap labor in the British colonies
as they worked the plantations (Singh, 1988). They were forced to endure hard
labor in the cane fields and rice mills. Indians faced another form of slavery in
Guyana under British rule. They were forced to either Christianize for government
positions and upward social mobility or remain non-Christians in poverty as
cheap labor (British Guiana & Carrington, 1895). Eventually, the laws permitted
Indians to send their children to colonial schools where there was an attempt to
Christianize young Indian children (British Guiana & Carrington, 1895). The goal
in school was to civilize indigenous children with a basic education so that they
could have the basic skill sets needed to serve in the colonies as laborers. Bacchus
writes, “This education was often aimed at deculturalizing and Christianizing the
East Indians who were mainly Hindus and Muslims” (Bacchus, 1994, p. 6). The
curricula aimed to Christianize and teach morality to the so-called uncivilized
children (British Guiana & Carrington, 1895).
My mother and her siblings endured a Christianizing curriculum as young children
in the nineteen fifties and sixties at the Cane Grove Anglican Primary School, which

5
CHAPTER 1

was government funded. If the students did not adhere to the rules of the school, they
would face a whipping. Before school began for the day, my mother as a Hindu girl,
was forced to say the Christian prayer:
Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy Name, thy kingdom come, thy
will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And
forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead
us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, and
the power, and the glory, forever and ever. Amen
The teachers would also have the students say a prayer after returning from lunch. At
the end of the school day, my mother was forced to recite:
Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die
before I wake, I pray the lord my soul to take. Amen
My naana (maternal grandfather), Ganesh Shankar,7 and naani (maternal
grandmother), Bhagwatie Shankar did not attend school. Instead, they were
laborers as children who worked on the plantations. My naana remained faithful
as a self-educated Hindu who was well versed in sacred Hindu scriptures and
the language of Hindi as taught to him by his parents, my great-naana (great
grandfather) Shankar and my great-naani (great grandmother) Sugya who were
from India. When my mother and her siblings came home on the weekdays from
school under British rule, they would then venture to the Cane Grove Hindi
School near the Estate Mandir (temple) where they learned to read and write
Hindi in the late afternoon/early evening. During the workday, my naana was
a laborer in the fields but in the late afternoon/early evening, he was one of the
Hindi School teachers. In addition, my naana taught all of my uncles at home to
sing the sacred Ramayana (Valmiki & Shastri, 1952) in an ancient Hindi style
known as Ramayana Baani.
It is important for the world to know that India had a rich heritage as a civilized
country with ancient traditions before the British’s colonial rule. Hinduism, which
developed in India, has a legitimate historical tradition, with a strong sense of
morality as a part of humanity. I aim to share this through Kuchipudi Indian classical
Hindu dance in an effort to correct the misconceptions of Hinduism as a pagan
religion of uncivilized savages. Even though the British took Indians out of India
to Guyana to work as laborers, they could not take Hinduism out of faith-based
Hindus. Although the British succeeded at using Christianity as a civilizing force
to the point where some Indians came to believe that they were and still are solely
Christians, the British could not sever the personal relationship that faith-based
Hindus had with Hinduism. My mamoos (mother’s brothers; uncles) continued
this tradition as they taught Hindi to youths when they migrated to Jersey City,
New Jersey. I remember my mamoo Seetaram “Sonny” Ganesh, mamoo Chateram
“Parshu” Ganesh, and mamoo Tularam “Narad” Ganesh teaching me to write Hindi

6
 INTRODUCTION

when I was around seven years old at the Hindu Dharmic Sabha Mandir8 in Jersey
City. My brother ensured the completion of the task as he taught me to read and
write Hindi fluently.
Essentially, my ancestors were forcibly transported from India to Guyana where
they endured a lifestyle under harsh socioeconomic conditions that prevented them
from the achievement of upward social mobility without compromising their faith as
Hindus. My father migrated to the United States in the 1970s, along with my mother,
who then sponsored their relatives to also migrate to escape the poverty they were
forced into under British colonial rule. Here in this nation, my family had a dream
to pursue a lifestyle as faith-based Hindus who work in a fair society – if there is
such a concept. My ancestry reminds me that my personal struggle is not new, but
rather is intertwined into a long legacy where my ancestors faced similar struggles.
My father embraced people of different religions and cultures when he came to this
country. Yet, he remained a faith-based Hindu who shared Hinduism in an effort to
promote interreligious and intercultural relations. He did not achieve his doctorate
as desired, due to his unforeseen death, but he inspired me to pursue my doctorate
and maintain a voice in the public sphere to promote interreligious and intercultural
relations. He taught me that there is a need to help each other understand that we
are a part of a humanitarian family who needs to think about interreligious and
intercultural connections despite the long legacy of colonialism that had an impact
on all indigenous people.
Although I endured a great deal of racism as an elementary student, I am proud
to be a faith-based Hindu who is a descendant of India. I will sing my bhajans
(songs), say my slokas (prayers), and wear my traditional clothing, regardless of
where I go. The colonialists could not and still cannot take Hinduism out of the
blood of faith-based Hindus like myself. While this might seem like an aggressive
stance, I am not furious with the British. They felt the need to colonize Indians
to help foster a more “civilized” society. This is not an excuse for the era of
indentured servitude and Christianizing in the Caribbean, but rather is a plea for
an understanding that could help humanity to move forward. As many believe the
great Mahatma Gandhi said, “An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.”9
Throughout the years, I came to realize that some people have a desire to learn
about Hinduism and Indian culture but do not have access to the information to
help them gain this education. While I probably cannot confront the ignorance
of supremacists who may not even read this text, I can make my scholarly voice
heard to help individuals gain a framework of the ancient traditions of Hinduism
and Indian culture through Kuchipudi Indian classical Hindu dance. I beg the
pardon of those of British descent who might feel attacked through this text. My
goal is not to attack British descendants but rather to shed light on Hinduism and
Indian culture in an effort to develop an understanding that will end the need to
Christianize and colonize Indians and all people of indigenous descent as I hope to
foster interreligious and intercultural relations.

7
CHAPTER 1

MY BODY

It is imperative to acknowledge some of the struggles that I endured from a personal

dimension to understand why I view this project as urgent. Aside from my bullying
experiences in elementary school, as a young girl, I endured a great deal of personal
body issues, on several levels, which I will not elaborate on here. These experiences
most certainly contributed to my sense of self worth and body image. While I was
the “tribal, savage girl” during my elementary school years to mostly white children
and teachers, I was the exotic, beautifully-sexually-figured girl to Indians who did
not see Hindu ideals. I also became an exotic, beautifully-sexually-figured woman to
mostly non-Hindus as a graduate student. This was a living paradox for me, which I
found difficult to live with.10
I felt very uncomfortable in my body to the point where I just wanted my soul
to leave my body. I had to learn to overcome this discomfort before I could use my
body as a pedagogical tool to engage in Hindu dance. I do not mean to say that Hindu
dance is a therapeutic tool used to deal with trauma. While Hindu dance might be
therapeutic, it is first a sacred art form used to fulfill a deep sense of purpose.
Although my body is scarred with the marks of bullies and predators, I am an
empowered woman who confronts my own personal history as I dance. Sometimes,
I feel as if my inner soul is pushing against the walls of my body screaming to escape
from a human existence in the world. I immediately remember that, as my brother
always told me, I was sent to the earth from a Supreme Being to fulfill a particular
purpose in life. Before I die, I must fulfill my purpose for the duration of my life,
which will end when the Supreme Being feels that I completed my life’s tasks. I will
not let my fear of exoticism prevent me from engaging in Hindu dance because it is
a part of my life’s purpose. When I dance, I feel that the wounds heal as I connect to
a Supreme Being who bestows blessings to me that rid the blemishes on my body.
I become a stronger, empowered, assertive woman with each Hindu dance that gives
my body the spiritual weapons to battle any exoticism that may arise before, during,
and after the dance. In other words, the gaze from a Supreme Being overpowers
any exoticism that I may endure. In addition to my personal sensory experiences,
I feel obligated to teach non-Hindus about Hinduism through dance because it is
imperative to understand the urgency of interreligious relations to develop an
appreciation for humanity.

ABOUT KUCHIPUDI

Before continuing to discuss Kuchipudi dance as an educational issue, I will briefly

explain Kuchipudi dance. Kuchipudi dance adheres to the cosmic law of Hindu
dharma, which means that dancers aim to perform virtuous, dutiful actions before,
during, and after the dance. In essence, for Kuchipudi dancers, virtue involves the
observance of religion, as a way of life that leads to unity with a Supreme Being.
According to Rao (1992), “Kuchi” refers to Manmadha, the deity of love, and “pudi”

8
 INTRODUCTION

refers to hero-heroine relationships and also means “village” (Rao, 1992, p. 32). The
dance drama should encourage viewers, regardless of their religious identity, to think
about ethics. In other words, the dancer through the dance drama attempts to show
viewers of the performance that virtuous people should act with good intentions as
divine beings as opposed to unvirtuous people who act as demonic beings.
There is also a geographical history to the development of Kuchipudi dance.
The classical dance as practised in Andhra Pradesh, a State on the mid-eastern
coast of India is known as Kuchipudi, and it gets its name from the village
of the same name, near Masulipatam in the Krishna district. Springing from
the comprehensive principles, system and techniques of the classical dance
as expounded in the Natya Sastra by Bharata Muni, this highly developed
form of the classical dance has come down to posterity in the purposeful dance
drama form. Through these dance dramas, the full beauty of lyric, music and
dance composition are [sic] unfolded to tell a story pregnant with emotional
expression and high ethical intent. (Bhavnani, 1965, p. 55)
Kuchipudi dance originally developed in a village named “Kuchipudi” which is
located in the Krishna District of Andra Pradesh in the southern mid-eastern part of
India. The dance style adheres to the system of Hindu dance as related in the ancient
Hindu scripture, the Natya Sastra (BharataMuni, 2000). The text explains the ethic
of Hindu dance. Although Kuchipudi dance originated in the village of Kuchipudi, it
soon spread beyond the boundaries of Andhra Pradesh with the purpose of thinking
about ethics (Bhavnani, 1965).
As a Kuchipudi dancer, I dance with the intention to teach about the ethics of
Hinduism in a manner that does not force a Hindu epistemological framework
onto others, but rather attempts to share what the ethics of a Hindu epistemological
framework are. Despite my purpose as a Kuchipudi dancer, I experience a problem
when I use dance as a pedagogical tool to educate non-Hindus. As I mentioned
earlier, by non-Hindus I refer to individuals who do not believe in or are unfamiliar
with a way of life based on Hindu religious scriptures. Also, keep in mind that
this project is limited to the northeastern part of the United States of America. My
problem involves my ability to relate the educational nature of the dance. In some
instances, viewers of the dance do not understand the sacredness of the Kuchipudi
dances, which strips the dance of its religious historicity and infuses solely cultural
assumptions.
For me to successfully dance, I need to use dance as an educational tool that
overcomes Orientalism (Said, 1979) and acknowledges a postcolonial reality
whether as an educator on stage or in the classroom. Essentially, I desire to show
how Kuchipudi dance could serve as an educational tool in the West. I do not seek
to train higher education educators to become dancers. Rather, I seek to show higher
education educators how Kuchipudi dance is a pedagogical tool that the dancer and
the non-dancer can use to overcome the Orientalism of the religion of Hinduism and
Indian culture in a manner that acknowledges the realities of postcolonialism.

9
CHAPTER 1

As a Kuchipudi dancer and educator, I currently use Kuchipudi dance as a de-

Orientalized pedagogical tool and form of contemplative education in Religious
Studies classes in higher education. My project will explore my phenomenological
experience as a Kuchipudi dancer and educator who uses Kuchipudi dance as a de-
Orientalized pedagogical tool that moves beyond the nature of a mere fine art. I engage
successfully in Kuchipudi dance if I sense that my personal, phenomenological
experience indicates that I serve as a receptor of an educational gaze that sees the
dance as a divine art form. Here, an educational gaze is a curious look that intends
to learn about the educational nature of the dance. As an educator, I hope that I will
perceive an educational gaze, which I will elaborate on in an upcoming chapter,
when I use Kuchipudi dance pedagogically. The dance has an educational purpose
that moves beyond physical acrobatic activity. If I do not sense an educational
gaze, then I feel I have engaged in a failed attempt to dance. Currently, I feel that I
sometimes fail to successfully use Kuchipudi dance pedagogically to educate non-
Hindus because my personal, phenomenological experience, in these cases, indicates
a lack of an educational gaze. When I dance for non-Hindus, my phenomenological
experience causes me to sometimes deal with the problem of exoticism. I sense this
when there is an aura around me that pierces my skin like arrows crushing my body
in an attempt to mold me into something that is familiar to the spectators. In the eyes
of viewers, I sense that I become what they want me to be, which often seems to be
a cultural entertainer, that I do not identify as. Essentially, the problem of exoticism
means that I feel scarred as I phenomenologically receive a gaze that views me as a
foreign exotic creature that is alluring and appealing. The problem of exoticism is
not just a postcolonial problem but also a feminist issue.

ORIENTALISM

Overall, my problem arises from my dance experiences and the historical era of
imperialism. Colonization occurs when those in power believe there is a need to
dominate in a manner that subjugates people (Kohn, 2006). Colonizers created
colonies as they moved into territory because they felt there was a need to “civilize”
the so-called savages of the land. Postcolonialism is an intellectual discourse that
confronts the legacy of colonialism and attempts to de-colonize. With the legacy of
colonialism and a postcolonial lens in mind, how do I, as a Kuchipudi dancer, use
Hindu dance to educate non-Hindus about the Eastern literature of Hinduism? For
non-Hindus, I feel the power of the exoticizing gaze when I dance, which might very
well block the educational intention of the dance. This exoticizing gaze prevents the
understanding of the traditional nature of the dance and the introduction to Hinduism
as a world religion. Perhaps others who aim to use the arts as an educational tool
face similar problems. My problem is moving the exotic gaze of non-Hindus to an
educational gaze that seeks to learn about the ethics of Hinduism in a manner that
takes into consideration the multiple perspectives of the complex society we live in
today.

10
 INTRODUCTION

I will focus on the problem of Orientalism that occurs when using Kuchipudi dance
as an educational tool for non-Hindus. Edward Said discusses the epistemological
concepts of who has access to knowledge and how knowledge develops in the West
and the East in his book Orientalism (Said, 1979).
The Orientalist stage, as I have been calling it, becomes a system of moral and
epistemological rigor. As a discipline representing institutionalized Western
knowledge of the Orient, Orientalism thus comes to exert a three-way force on
the Orient, on the Orientalist, and on the Western ‘consumer’ of Orientalism.
It would be wrong, I think, to underestimate the strength of the three-way
relationship thus established. For the Orient (‘out there’ towards the East) is
corrected, even penalized for lying outside the boundaries of European society,
‘our’ world; the Orient is thus Orientalized, a process that not only marks the
Orient as the province of the Orientalist but also forces the uninitiated Western
reader to accept Orientalist codifications (like d’Herbelot’s alphabeticized
Bibliotheque) as the true Orient. Truth, in short, becomes a function of learned
judgment, not the material itself, which in time seems to owe even its existence
to the Orientalist. (Said, 1979, p. 67)
Said acknowledges that there is a Western sphere and an Eastern sphere. Said
specifically, in the above quote, discusses how the West develops its own knowledge
of the East. In a sense, the East becomes an objectified subject matter where the
West judges the East based on Western ideals of what the East should be. This
is what I experienced as an elementary school student when I was bullied. New
Orientalist knowledge of the East develops into an accepted Western form of
knowledge, which is then used to teach other Westerners about the East as the West
perceives it. I remember my classmates telling me that their parents would not let
them play with “dot-heads.” This is my lived experience of Orientalism that presents
a problem for the West and the East. The East sometimes misrepresents the West,
just as the West, in many cases, distorts the East. My project focuses on the way
the West misrepresents the East. As stated earlier, during colonialism, nations were
once ruled and forced to adhere to certain enforced religious and cultural traditions.
Postcolonialism is a subject area that focuses on the theories of religion and culture
after the era of colonialism.
Before continuing, it is crucial to pay attention to the way Said defines the West
and the East. Said writes,
To speak of Orientalism therefore is to speak mainly, although not exclusively,
of a British and French cultural enterprise, a project whose dimensions
take in such disparate realms as the imagination itself, the whole of India
and the Levant, the Biblical texts and the Biblical lands, the spice trader,
colonial armies and a long tradition of colonial administrators, a formidable
scholarly corpus, innumerable Oriental ‘experts’ and ‘hands,’ an Oriental
professorate, a complex array of ‘Oriental’ ideas (Oriental despotism, Oriental

11
CHAPTER 1

splendor, cruelty, sensuality), many Eastern sects, philosophies, and wisdoms

domesticated for local European use – the list can be extended more or less
indefinitely. My point is that Orientalism derives from a particular closeness
experienced between Britain and France and the Orient, which until the early
nineteenth century had really meant only India and the Bible lands. (Said,
1979, p. 4)
Said refers to the East as the “Orient” and the West as the “Occident.” By East,
he means Asia and by the West, he refers to Britain and France. However, he does
not mean this in a geographical sense. Essentially, Said acknowledges the West as
the Western attitudes associated with Britain and France and the East as Eastern
attitudes connected with Asia. This is what my ancestors experienced during the
diaspora when they were labeled as “Indians” and “Hindus” instead of “humans.”
My ancestors in Guyana were forced to either develop Western attitudes as associated
with Britain and France or remain labeled as uncivilized savages who were cheap
labor.
Even though Said is of Eastern descent, he does not advocate for either Western
or Eastern discourse, but rather suggests that we learn to accept that our histories
intertwine.
My principal aim is not to separate but to connect, and I am interested in this
for the main philosophical and methodological reason that cultural forms are
hybrid, mixed, impure, and the time has come in cultural analysis to reconnect
their analysis with their actuality. (Said, 1993, p. 14)
Thus, we cannot live separately from each other, regardless of whether we are part
of the Western or the Eastern sphere, because we already live together as a part of
each other’s world. While there are unique characteristics to each of our cultures, our
cultures are interconnected. Therefore, there are some commonalities that we need
to acknowledge. In the below quote, Said discusses the nature of scholarly work.
Everyone who writes about the Orient must locate himself vis-à-vis the Orient;
translated into his text, this location includes the kind of narrative voice he
adopts, the type of structure he builds, the kinds of images, themes, motifs
that circulate in his text – all of which add up to deliberate ways of addressing
the reader, containing the Orient, and finally, representing it or speaking in
its behalf. None of this takes place in the abstract, however. Every writer on
the Orient (and this is true even of Homer) assumes some Oriental precedent,
some previous knowledge of the Orient, to which he refers and on which he
relies. (Said, 1979, p. 20)
Said indicates that first there is a need to understand both traditions from
within as opposed to a perspective that is imposed on the other from the outside.
Specifically, writers need to be aware of the text that they produce about the East.
The goal should be to represent and not misrepresent the East. Therefore, not only

12
 INTRODUCTION

writers, but also scholars need to situate themselves within the East as the East is.
Once they understand these perspectives, they should think about how to infuse
the traditions in a pragmatic way that will benefit the global public sphere today.
It is my hope that I will confront the problem of the exoticizing gaze that prevents
non-Hindus from understanding the nature of Kuchipudi dance. Once non-Hindus
overcome the problem of the exotic gaze, I will aim to move non-Hindus to an
educational gaze that infuses Kuchipudi dance appropriately into the current
global culture.
Cultural experience or indeed cultural form is radically, quintessentially
hybrid, and if it has been the practice in the West since Immanuel Kant to
isolate cultural and aesthetic realms from the worldly domain, it is now time to
rejoin them. (Said, 1993, p. 58)
I share Said’s goal that recognizes that the interconnectedness between the West
and the East cannot be avoided, and thus must be approached pragmatically, with
cultural sensitivity, and understanding. Cultures are not just separate and distinct
from one another. On the contrary, cultures are joined together by commonalties.
My goal for this project is to overcome this problem of the isolation of religions and
cultures by using Kuchipudi dance as an educational tool to educate non-Hindus. My
own phenomenological experience will provoke the commonality of the educational
gaze as I hope to serve as a representative of the postcolonial tradition of education.

QUESTIONS FOR THIS PROJECT

This raises a series of questions about Kuchipudi dance education. These questions
overlap and intertwine with one another. Said would concur that this cannot be
avoided since our histories are entangled in the web of this world. I start with
questions that pertain to the Kuchipudi dance tradition itself and the experiences
of the East and the West. Then, I move to questions about Kuchipudi dancers and
dance educators. It will be a difficult task to examine the dance tradition without
an examination of the history of dancers and dance educators and vice versa. Thus,
while I realize this, I propose to link these questions together in an intertwined
manner that acknowledges the individualities of dancers and dance educators while
also acknowledging the commonalities of dancers and dance educators as a part of
Indian dance culture.
The main question for this discourse is how can Kuchipudi dance promote an
educational gaze that is a critical, self-reflexive position that intends to overcome
the exotic gaze and also rise above the isolation of religions and cultures? This leads
to another vital question. How can I, as a Kuchipudi Indian classical Hindu dancer,
change the Western fundamental assumptions about the East that causes Orientalism
to thrive? Consequently, how can the vibrant Kuchipudi dance culture live on today
and not in the past, in a postcolonial space while retaining the traditions of the past?
These questions deal with the problems of exoticism that emerge from my scholarly

13
CHAPTER 1

work based on my personal experiences as a Westerner of Eastern descent who

practices an Eastern dance style.
Even though culture (Bhabha, 1994) is unstable and constantly changing, how
can Kuchipudi dancers and dance teachers maintain a fidelity to the traditions of
Indian classical dance without employing a belief in culture as pure and untainted?
How can Kuchipudi dancers and dance educators be representative of the Kuchipudi
dance tradition as a part of Hinduism in the West and the East as opposed to
corrupters or people who misrepresent the dance tradition? I use the word corrupters
because it is my contention that while some dancers may cause the dance tradition
to transform, others may corrupt the dance tradition through Orientalizing the dance
tradition based on the way the West constructs knowledge of the East. Those who
present Kuchipudi dance pedagogy in this manner misrepresent the tradition. I seek
to pragmatically transform the tradition according to the new goals that arise because
of educational and political needs.
While the dance literature and education literature may adequately address the
needs of mainstream issues in education, postcolonial issues in education also need
to be sufficiently addressed. There are current gaps in the dance literature and the
education literature because these bodies of literature do not adequately address the
emerging issues of postcolonial realities for female Kuchipudi dancers, like myself,
who exist between a Hindu tradition and a Western non-Hindu secular culture. For
instance, the Natya Shastra (BharataMuni, 2000), the ancient Hindu text about
dance theory by the Sage Bharatamuni, was written during Treta Yuga (Selbie &
Steinmetz, 2010), which is the second age of the world according to Hinduism. This
text deals with the mannerisms of the Hindu dancer. The author discusses how the
dancer engages as a dancer before, during, and after the dance.
Likewise, the Abhinaya Darapanam (Nandikeśvara & Apparao, 1997), the ancient
Hindu text about the form of dance by the Sage Nandikeshwara, was also written
around that time. This text discusses the gestures the dancer uses during the dance.
The author writes about hand gestures, feet gestures, head gestures, neck gestures,
and eye gestures as the form that the dancer uses to speak the language of dance.
The ancient texts had a different problem, which was to provide dancers with the
dance education needed to dance. The authors did not need to consider the problems
of exoticism that emerge from colonialism because these problems did not exist
back then. Even though the problem of exoticism exists today, most of the current
Kuchipudi dance literature (Acharya & Mallika Sarabhai, 1992; Chakravorty, 2008;
Narayanan, 1994; Rao, 1992; Suresh, 2003; Uma, 1992; Vatsyayan, 1996) is written
for an Eastern, Hindu population and still discusses dance theory and dance form
as opposed to the issue of exoticism that inevitably occurs among non-Hindus.
Furthermore, the Kuchipudi dance literature is very scarce and typically mostly
found solely in the East through Indian publishers. The literature is very limited and
rare in the West. I will build on the Kuchipudi dance literature for readers of the East
and the West as I confront the problem of exoticism and the need to move from an
exotic gaze to an educational gaze. Because the Kuchipudi dance literature is largely

14
 INTRODUCTION

restricted to an Eastern population, which authors assume are already familiar with
Hindu beliefs, a postcolonial theory of Kuchipudi dance is needed to introduce the
West to Kuchipudi dance and also deal with the assumptions of non-Hindus.
In sum, my phenomenological experience during the dance performance has a
direct effect on my ability to relate the dance. Thus, it is imperative for me to deal with
my perception of the exotic gaze that occurs through Orientalism. This exotic gaze
has the ability to stimulate all sorts of terror from my past that may block my ability
to engage in Hindu dance. The root of my problem is based on the residual effects
of colonialism that misrepresent the tradition of Kuchipudi dance. I seek to develop
a philosophical postcolonial educational theory using the education literature to deal
with this problem. This will help dance educators within the Eastern and the Western
tradition understand the theory of Kuchipudi dance. Furthermore, this will help me
use dance appropriately among non-Hindus and specifically in academia where my
goal is to introduce students to the Eastern literature of Hinduism and Indian culture.

CONFRONTING ORIENTALISM

Kuchipudi Indian classical Hindu dance inside and outside of Hinduism presents
an urgent educational issue. This issue concerns the educational value of Kuchipudi
dance in both the Eastern and the Western traditions. For this reason, as a Hindu
dancer and educator within and outside of Hinduism, I need to engage in a theoretical
development of a postcolonial pedagogy that deals with the power issues that are
missed in the existing dance literature and the contemplative literature.
Postcolonial scholars (Said, 1979; Bhabha, 1994; Nandy, 1983) show that we live
in a postcolonial, multicultural world that is full of misrepresentations of cultural
Others. Specifically, Edward Said states,
There were two principal methods by which Orientalism delivered the Orient to
the West in the early twentieth century. One was by means of the disseminative
capacities of modern learning, its diffusive apparatus in the learned professions,
the universities, the professional societies, the explorational and geographical
organizations, the publishing industry. All these, as we have seen, built upon
the prestigious authority of the pioneering scholars, travelers, and poets
whose cumulative vision had shaped a quintessential Orient; the doctrinal – or
doxological – manifestation of such an Orient is what I have been calling here
latent Orientalism…The second method by which Orientalism delivered the
Orient to the West was the result of an important convergence. For decades
the Orientalist had spoken about the Orient, they had translated texts, they had
explained civilizations, religions, dynasties, cultures, mentalities – as academic
objects, screened off from Europe by virtue of their inimitable foreignness.
(Said, 1979, pp. 221–222)
Said relates how Orientalism currently thrives in a diasporic society. As Said stated,
education, through a variety of avenues such as the publishing field, classes within

15
CHAPTER 1

universities, and professional organizations, promoted Orientalism based on the

esteemed authority of noteworthy scholars. These scholars developed knowledge of
the Orient based on their interpretation as mere uninformed and culturally insensitive
observers who relate the nature of foreign cultures as the cultural Other. Scholars
who misrepresent the Orient pave the way for other scholars to cite incorrect
prestigious scholars. This causes Orientalism to remain a thriving reality even within
a postcolonial age.
Not only is a postcolonial reality present in education, but it is also a factor in
the social and political forum in postcolonial studies. From a social and political
perspective, Ashis Nandy (1983) relates the historical growth of colonialism
in India in his book The Intimate Enemy. Specifically, he discusses how Britain
used its masculinity to enforce Western ideals and Western forms of education
onto the femininized nation of India. Because of this colonization, Nandy states
that peace leader, Mahatma Gandhi (1869–1948) used his knowledge of Western
law to fight for the independence of the Eastern nation, India. Gandhi (Datta, 1953;
Gandhi, 1957), who lived in the East and the West, had a desire to overcome the
misunderstandings and misrepresentations that the West had of the East and vice
versa. For Gandhi, one culture is not superior to the other but rather all cultures need
to learn to live harmoniously in this postcolonial era. Gandhi essentially helped to
initiate a postcolonial period that developed an awareness of colonizing, Orientalist
ideologies.
Said calls for a new form of decolonized scholarship that is informed and culturally
sensitive to the power of representation. Said writes at the end of Orientalism,
As I have characterized in this study, Orientalism calls in question not only
the possibility of nonpolitical scholarship but also the advisability of too close
a relationship between scholar and the state. It is equally apparent, I think,
that the circumstances making Orientalism a continuingly persuasive type of
thought will persist: a rather depressing matter on the whole. Nevertheless
there is some rational expectation in my own mind that Orientalism need not
always be so unchallenged, intellectually, ideologically, and politically, as it
has been. (Said, 1979, p. 326)
As Said foresaw, Orientalism still functions as a system that causes culturally
insensitive misinformed representations of religions and cultures. Yet we live in a
postcolonial world where we must deal with the diversity of religions and cultures.
Thus, we need an educational solution to the persistent problem of Orientalism
to prevent religious and cultural insensitivity, which occurs frequently through
exoticism. There is a need for educators to locate themselves in this context of
diversity from a postcolonial perspective that moves beyond a view of the cultural
Other.
While critics of postcolonialism may agree that Said drives a wedge between
the East and the West, this is not the case. Said acknowledges that the East and
the West separates itself into an Eastern sphere and a Western sphere. On the one

16
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“No, they have not!” exclaimed the daughter. “Everybody says he is
the best lawyer in New York. He has refused to be a judge several
times!”
“Oh, come, Molly! Don’t make a fool of your old father!”
“Go ahead, Miss Molly,” cried Mr. Fettiplace. “Don’t mind him! I know
you are right. But I suppose he pays the customary penalty for his
greatness; slaves day and night, both summer and winter, eh?”
“Yes, he does, and if you have any influence with him, Mr. Fettiplace,
I wish you would bring it to bear.”
“I will. He shall do just as you decide.”
“Now, Molly,” said Mr. Cabot, “be just. Have I not promised to take a
three months’ vacation this summer?”
“Where do you spend the summer?” asked Mr. Fettiplace.
“I don’t know yet. We gave up our place at the shore two years ago.
The salt air does not agree with me any too well; and neither Molly
nor I care for it particularly.”
There was a pause, and the guest felt that the wife’s death might
have saddened the pleasant memories in the house by the sea. As if
struck with an idea, he laid down his fork and exclaimed:
“Why not come to Daleford? There is a house all furnished and
ready for you! My daughter and her husband are going abroad, and
you could have it until November if you wished.”
“Where is that, Sam?”
“Well,” said Mr. Fettiplace, closing his eyes in a profound calculation,
“I am weak at figures, but on the map it is north of Hartford and
about a quarter of an inch below the Massachusetts border.”
Mr. Cabot laughed. “I remember you were always weak at figures.
What is it, a fashionable resort?”
“Not at all. If that is what you are after, don’t think of it.”
“But it is not what we are after,” said Molly. “We want a quiet place to
rest and read in.”
“With just enough walking and driving,” put in the father, “to induce
us to eat and sleep a little more than is necessary.”
“Then Daleford is your place,” and the huge guest, with his head to
one side, rolled his light-blue eyes toward Molly.
“Do tell us about it,” she demanded.
“Well, in the first place Daleford itself is a forgotten little village,
where nothing was ever known to happen. Of course births,
marriages, and deaths have occurred there, but even those things
have always been more uneventful than anywhere else. Nothing can
take place without the whole village knowing it, and knowing it at
once: yet the inhabitants are always asleep. No one is ever in sight.
If you should lock yourself in your own room, pull down the curtains
and sneeze, say your prayers or change a garment at an
unaccustomed hour, all Daleford would be commenting on it before
you could unlock the door and get downstairs again.”
“That sounds inviting,” said Mr. Cabot. “There is nothing like privacy.”
“I only tell you this so there shall be no deception. But all that does
not really concern you, as our house is a mile from the village.” Then
he went on to describe its real advantages: the pure air, the hills, the
beautiful scenery, the restful country life, and when he had finished
his hearers were much interested and thought seriously of going to
see it.
“I notice, Sam, that you make no mention of the malaria,
rheumatism, or organized bands of mosquitoes, drunk with your own
blood, who haul you from your bed at dead of night. Or do you take it
for granted we should be disappointed without those things?”
“No, sir. I take it for granted that every New Yorker brings those
things with him,” and again a large china-blue eye was obscured by
a laborious wink as its mate beamed triumphantly upon the daughter.
There were further questions regarding the house, the means of
getting there, and finally Molly asked if there were any neighbors.
“Only one. The others are half a mile away.”
“And who is that one?” she asked.
“That one is Judd, and he is an ideal neighbor.”
“Is he a farmer?”
“Yes, in a way. He raises horses and pups and costly cattle.” Then,
turning to Mr. Cabot. “It is the young man I brought into your office
this morning, Jim.”
“Well, he is too beautiful for the country! If I could spend a summer
near a face like that I shouldn’t care what the scenery was.”
“Is his name Amos Judd?” asked Molly.
“Why, yes. Do you know him?”
“I think I met him early this winter. His reputation is not the best in the
world, is it?”
Mr. Fettiplace seemed embarrassed. He took a sip of wine before
answering.
“Perhaps not. There have been stories about him, but,” and he
continued with more than his habitual earnestness, “I have a higher
opinion of him and would trust him farther than any young man I
know!”
She felt, nevertheless, that Mr. Judd’s reputation might not be a
proper subject for a young lady to discuss, and she remained silent.
But her father was not a young lady, and he had heard nothing of the
improprieties of the young man’s career. “What is his particular line
of sin?” he inquired.
“He has none. At present he is all right; but at college, and that was
five years ago, I am afraid he took a livelier interest in petticoats than
in the advertised course of study.”
“Of course he did,” said Mr. Cabot. “That beauty was given him for
the delectation of other mortals. To conceal it behind a book would
be opposing the will of his Creator.”
“Poor Amos,” said Mr. Fettiplace with a smile, as he slowly shook his
head. “His beauty is his curse. He regards it as a blight, is ashamed
of it, and would give a good deal to look like other people. Everybody
wonders who he is and where he came from. As for the women, they
simply cannot keep their eyes away from him.”
“If I were a woman,” said Mr. Cabot, in a slow, judicial manner, “I
should throw my arms about his neck and insist upon remaining
there.”
Mr. Fettiplace chuckled, not only at the solemnity of his friend’s face
during the delivery of the speech, but at the contemptuous silence
with which this and similar utterances were received by the daughter.
There had always been a gentler and more lovable side to James
Cabot, and he was glad to see that success and honors had not
destroyed the mental friskiness and love of nonsense that had been
an irresistible charm in former years. He was also glad to witness the
affection and perfect understanding between father and daughter. It
was evident that from long experience she was always able to sift
the wheat from the chaff, and was never deceived or unnecessarily
shocked by anything he might choose to say.
“Well, he will be here soon,” said Mr. Fettiplace, “but as you are only
a man, you may have to content yourself with sitting in his lap.”
“Is Mr. Judd coming here this evening?” inquired Molly, in a tone that
betrayed an absence of pleasure at the news.
Her father looked over in mild surprise. “Yes, did I forget to tell you? I
asked him to dine, but he had another engagement. He is to drop in
later. And, by the way, Sam, where did the young man get that face?
No line of Connecticut farmers bequeathed such an inheritance.”
“No, they did not. Judd’s little mystery has never been cleared up. I
can only repeat the common knowledge of Daleford, that the boy
was brought to this country when he was about six years old, and
that a few handfuls of diamonds and rubies came with him. The
value of this treasure has been exaggerated, probably, but with all
allowances made it must have amounted to more than a million
dollars.”
“Why!” exclaimed Molly. “It’s quite like a fairy tale!”
“Yes, and the mystery is still agoing. Josiah Judd, in whose hands he
was placed, happened to be the only person who knew the boy’s
history, and he died without telling it. Who the child was or why he
was sent here no one knows and no one seems likely to discover.
Josiah died about twelve years ago, and ever since that time stray
clusters of emeralds, pearls, and diamonds have been turning up in
unexpected places about the house. Some are hidden away in
secretary drawers, others folded in bits of paper behind books. They
have tumbled from the pockets of Josiah’s old clothes, and a few
years ago his widow discovered in one of his ancient slippers an
envelope containing something that felt like seeds. On the outside
was written ‘Amos’s things.’ She tore it open and found a dozen or
more magnificent rubies, rubies such as one never sees in this
country. They were sold for over two hundred thousand dollars.”
“Gracious!” exclaimed Molly, “what possessed him to leave them in
such places? Was he crazy?”
“On the contrary, he was too wise. Not wishing to dispose of them in
a lump, he did it gradually, and concealed them for greater safety in
different places, so that no one thief could steal them all. Whenever
he sold them he invested the proceeds in solid securities. No one
knows to what extent the old farmhouse is still a jewel casket. It is
more than likely that cracks and corners to-day are hiding their
precious stones.”
“How mysterious and exciting!” exclaimed Molly. “It seems too
romantic for practical New England.”
“That is just the trouble with it,” said her father. He leaned back in his
chair and continued, with a smile, “I suspect our guest has been
reading his ‘Monte Cristo’ lately, which may account for a pardonable
exaggeration in a historian who means to be honest. Who told you
all this, Sam? The Judds’ family cat?”
Mr. Fettiplace drew his hand slowly across his forehead and closed
his blue eyes, as if hesitating for a reply. “There is so much that is
hard to believe connected with Amos that one ought to prepare his
audience before talking about him. I will tell you one little thing that
happened to myself, an occurrence not dependent upon other
people’s credulity. One day last autumn, late in the afternoon, I was
walking along an untravelled road through the woods, when I met
two little children who were playing horse. The front one, the horse,
wore a garment that looked like a white silk overcoat without
sleeves. Otherwise the children were roughly clad, with battered
straw hats and bare feet. The overcoat had a curious, Oriental cut,
and there was a good deal of style to it; so much, in fact, and of such
a foreign flavor, that I stopped to get a better look at it. The wearer, a
boy of eight or ten, I recognized as the son of an unprosperous
farmer who lived in a dilapidated old house not far away. When I
asked him where he got his jacket he said he wore it at the children’s
tableaux: that he was the prince who awoke the sleeping beauty in
the town hall last night. Then I remembered there had been a
performance to raise money for the library.
“While talking with him I noticed there were four rows of little pearl-
shaped buttons around the neck and down the front. They formed
part of an elaborate design, beautifully embroidered in gold and
silver thread, old and somewhat tarnished, but in excellent
preservation. I asked him what those ornaments were, and he
answered they were beads. ‘But who owns the jacket?’ I asked:
‘Does it belong to you?’ No, it belonged to Mrs. Judd, who had lent it
for the performance. ‘Then why don’t you return it to Mrs. Judd?’ Oh,
they were going to return it to-morrow morning. I offered to take it, as
I was going that way, and the jacket was handed over.
“The more I examined the article, the more interested I became, and
finally I sat down on a rock and made a study of it. I found the
garment was of white silk and completely covered with a most
elaborate stitching of gold and silver thread. I am no expert in
precious stones, but I knew those beads were either pearls or
tremendously clever imitations, and when I remembered there was a
good old-fashioned mystery connected with Amos’s arrival in these
parts, I began to feel that the beads stood a fair chance of being
more than they pretended. I counted a hundred and twenty of them.
“When I took the garment to Mrs. Judd and told her what I thought,
she didn’t seem at all surprised; simply told me it had been lying in a
bureau-drawer ever since Amos came, about twenty years ago. She
is over eighty and her memory has gone rapidly the last few years,
but she closed her eyes, stroked her hair, and said she remembered
now that her husband had told her this jacket was worth a good
many dollars. And so they always kept it locked away in an upstairs
drawer, but she had forgotten all about that when she offered it to the
Faxons for their performance. Down the front of the jacket were large
splashes of a dark reddish-brown color which she said had always
been there, and she remembered thinking, as she first laid the coat
away, that Amos had been in some mischief with currant jelly. Amos
was away just then, but when he returned we took all the beads off,
and a few days later I showed a dozen of them to a New York
jeweller who said they were not only real pearls, but for size and
quality he had seldom seen their equal.”
“They must have been tremendously valuable,” said Molly.
“They averaged twelve hundred dollars apiece.”
“Gracious!” she exclaimed. “And there were a hundred and twenty of
them?”
“Yes; they brought a little more than a hundred and forty thousand
dollars.”
“It all harmonizes with Judd’s appearance,” said Mr. Cabot; “I should
not expect him to subsist on every-day American dividends. But it’s a
good jacket, even for fairy land.”
“Yes, it certainly is, and yet there was the usual touch of economy in
it,” Mr. Fettiplace continued. “When we came to remove the pearls,
we found a little gold loop or ring in the setting behind each one of
them. Those loops passed through a sort of circular button-hole in
the garment, and a gold wire, running along beneath the silk, held
the jewels in place, so that by drawing out the wire they were all
detached.”
“Well, where was the economy in that?”
“By being adjusted and removed so easily they probably served,
when occasion required, as necklace, belt, bracelets, earrings,
diadems, or the Lord knows what.”
“Of course,” assented Mr. Cabot. “A frugal device that might be of
service to other farmers. And you began, Sam, by describing
Daleford as an uneventful place. It seems to me that Bagdad is
nothing to it.”
Mr. Fettiplace sipped his coffee without replying. After a short
silence, however, with his eyes upon the coffee which he stirred in
an absent-minded way, he continued:
“There are one or two other things connected with Judd which are
much more difficult to explain. Daleford is full of mysterious tales of
supernatural happenings in which he is the hero of prophecies and
extraordinary fulfilments; always incredible, but told in honest faith by
practical, hard-headed people. Any native will give them to you by
the yard, but the hero, under no conditions, ever alludes to them
himself.”
“Which probably proves,” said Mr. Cabot, “that the hero is the only
one to be relied on. It is such fun to believe in the incredible! That is
the charm of miracles, that they are impossible.”
The rosy guest turned to the daughter with a smile, saying: “And
there is nothing like a hard-headed old lawyer to drag you back to
earth.”
“What were these tales, Mr. Fettiplace? What did they refer to?” she
asked.
But Mr. Fettiplace evidently felt that he had said enough, possibly
because a portion of his audience was not of encouraging material,
for he only answered in a general way that the stories related to
impossible experiences, and were probably only village gossip.
After dinner they sat around the fire in the next room, the two men
with their cigars and Molly at work over a bit of tapestry representing
the Maid of Orleans on a fat, white horse. This horse, according to
her father, must have belonged to a Liverpool circus, and was loaned
to Joanna for tapestry only. When Mr. Judd appeared Molly felt an
augmented interest in this hero of the white jacket, but it was against
both conscience and judgment and in spite of a pious resolve to
consider him simply as a libertine with a murderous temper. That her
father and Mr. Fettiplace had no such abhorrence was evident from
their cordial greeting.
The conversation became general, although the burden of it was
borne by Mr. Fettiplace, who seemed to possess upon every subject
either some interesting facts or a novel theory. Once, when he was
telling them something so amusing that it seemed safe to count upon
a strict attention from all his hearers, she looked over at Mr. Judd
and found his eyes fixed earnestly upon her face. It was a look so
serious, of such infinite melancholy that, in surprise, her own glance
involuntarily lingered for a second. He at once turned his eyes in
another direction, and she felt angry with herself for having given him
even so slight a testimonial of her interest. Although a trivial episode,
it served to increase the existing hostility and to strengthen an heroic
resolve. This resolve was to impress upon him, kindly but clearly, the
impossibility of a serious respect on her part for a person of such
unenviable repute. Later, when the two older men went up into the
library to settle some dispute concerning a date, he came over and
seated himself in a chair nearer her own, but also facing the fire.
“Your ears must have tingled this evening, Mr. Judd.”
“Ah, has Mr. Fettiplace been giving me away?”
“On the contrary; he is a stanch friend of yours.”
“Indeed he is, but it might require an exceedingly skilful friend to
throw a favorable light on such a subject.”
“How delightfully modest! I assure you he gave you an excellent
character.”
“Did you think it a wilful deception, or that he was simply mistaken?”
She turned and saw upon his face an amused smile, half triumphant
yet good-humored. She lowered her eyes to the bronze ornament on
the table that was slowly revolving between her fingers. “Am I so
incapable of believing good of others?”
“Certainly not! But when I saw you last I suffered from an unpleasant
belief that neither the Devil nor myself were objects of your
adoration. So I took the liberty of putting one or two things together,
and decided that the faithful Bennett might have honored me by a
mention.”
“Why suspect Mr. Bennett of such a thing?”
“Well, partly because he is a vindictive and unscrupulous liar, and
partly because he is the only enemy I saw there.”
This was said gently, in his usual low voice, with perfect calmness,
and it was said amiably, as if sympathizing with an unfortunate
friend.
“You seem able to meet him on his own ground.”
“Oh, no! There is all the difference in the world.”
She looked toward him interrogatively, but with an expression that
plainly indicated a difference of opinion. He continued in the same
tone, with no sign of animosity: “The difference is this, that he tells
others what he never tells me. I tell others his mind is filthy and his
spirit is mean; that he is without honor and that he is a liar, but I also
tell him.”
“You have told him that?”
“Often: sometimes to himself alone, sometimes in the presence of
others.”
She could not restrain a smile. “It must be a pleasant thing to tell a
man!”
“A man? Oh, that would be a different matter!”
There was a barbaric simplicity in all this that she could not help
respecting, particularly as she felt he was telling the truth: and she
sympathized with him heartily in this opinion of Horace Bennett.
While openly unforgiving and vindictive, he appeared to regard his
enemy with the half-serious contempt of a gentle but experienced
philosopher. But she remembered her resolution.
“Mr. Fettiplace has been telling us about that white jacket. What an
interesting story!”
“Yes, everything he tells is interesting. He has a rare faculty in that
direction.”
“But in this case he had an unusual subject. It is like a fairy story. I
suppose you wore it some time or other?”
“I suppose so.”
“But you must remember.”
“Vaguely. I was only seven years old when I came to this country and
I never wore it here.”
“Have you even forgotten how you spilled the currant jelly down the
front?”
“Currant jelly?” he repeated, and looked inquiringly toward her. “I
have not heard that theory.”
“You were the culprit and ought to know. But strawberry is just as
bad, I suppose.”
After a slight hesitation he answered, “Those are blood-stains.”
Turning toward him for further information, she could not help
thinking how much more he was in harmony with a tale of pearls and
mystery and human blood than with jam or currant jelly. As he made
no answer but sat gazing absently at the fire, she expressed a hope
that his youthful nose had not collided with the stairs or with the fist
of some larger boy.
“No, not that exactly,” he replied, with his eyes still upon the fire. “It is
a long story and would not interest you.” Then looking up, he
continued, with more animation, “I am glad there is a possibility of
your coming to Daleford. It is an ideal place to be quiet in.”
“So Mr. Fettiplace tells us, but you are mistaken about the history of
the jacket. It would interest me, and I should like extremely to hear it;
unless of course you prefer not to tell it.”
“If you wish to hear it that is reason enough for the telling, but—isn’t
it rather cruel to force a man to talk only about himself?”
“No; not in this case. It gives an opportunity to prove, by the
perfection of your boyhood, that you are less vile than you believe
Horace Bennett to have painted you.”
“That would be impossible. No human record could wipe out an
effect once laid in by such a hand. Besides, there is nothing in the
jacket to repair a damaged reputation.”
“The fact of telling the story will count in your favor.”
“In that case I will make an effort.” He rested an elbow on the arm of
his chair, slowly stroking the back of his head as if uncertain where
to begin. “It is really a foolish thing to do,” he said at last, “but if you
are relentless I suppose there is no escape. In the first place, to
begin at the very beginning, there was a little court with arches all
around it, with grass in the centre and a fountain at each corner. On
the marble steps, at one end, we were all sitting, a dozen or more
children, watching a man with a bear and two monkeys. These
monkeys had sham fights. One was dressed like an English soldier
with a red jacket, and he always got the worst of it. It was great fun
and we all laughed.”
“Where was this?”
“In India. At the very beginning of the show, when the English
monkey for a moment was on top, a servant rushed into the court
and dragged me away. It was a barbarous deed, and I was ugly; as
disagreeable probably as Horace Bennett could have wished. So I
only lose ground, you see, by telling this story.”
“Never mind. Unless you tell it I shall believe the worst.”
“Well, looking back as I was dragged along, the last thing I saw was
the red monkey being chased and beaten by the white one, and they
scrambled right up the bear’s back. In the chamber where we went
that white jacket was brought out and I made another row, for I knew
it meant a long and tiresome performance in which I had to keep still
and behave myself.”
“A performance on a stage?”
“No; in a large room, with lots of people standing about. As our
procession started for the big hall, which was several rooms away on
another side of the house, I noticed that my uncle and one or two
others kept closer to me than usual. There was a tremendous haste
and confusion, and everybody seemed excited.”
In telling his story Mr. Judd spoke in a low voice, pronouncing his
words clearly and with a certain precision. His only gesture consisted
in occasionally drawing a hand slowly up the back of his head, as if
finding solace in rubbing the short thick hair in the wrong direction.
Although his voice and manner suggested an indolent repose, she
noticed that the brown hands, with their long fingers, were hard and
muscular, and were the hands of a nervous temperament.
“When we entered the large hall there were lots of people, mostly
soldiers, and in uniforms I had not seen before. The principal person
seemed to be a short, thick-set man with a round face and big eyes,
who stood in the centre of the room, and his wide sash and odd-
looking turban with gold scales interested me tremendously. We all
stood there a few minutes and there was a good deal of talk about
something, when all of a sudden this man with the handsome turban
seized me under the arms with both hands, lifted me up, and handed
me to a big chap behind him.
“Then came a free fight, a general commotion, with shouting and
rushing about, and sword-blades in the air. A friend tried to pull me
away, but the big man who held me laid his head open with a blow. A
second later the big man himself received a cut from my uncle at the
base of his neck, where it joins the shoulder, that made him stagger
and turn half about: then he tumbled to the floor and held me all the
tighter as he fell. As we landed I came on top, but he rolled over and
lay across me with his head on my stomach. He was so heavy that
he held me down and the blood poured from his neck over my white
clothes.”
Molly had stopped working. With her hands in her lap and her eyes
fixed eagerly on his face, she uttered an exclamation of horror. He
said, with a smile:
“Not a cheerful story, is it?”
“It is awful! But what happened then?”
“Well, as I struggled to get from under I saw my uncle turn upon the
first man, the leader, but he was too late. Someone gave him a
thrust, and he staggered and came down beside us. I remember he
lay so near that I reached out and touched his cheek with my finger. I
spoke to him, but he never answered.”
There was a silence, she watching him, waiting for the rest of the
story, while he gazed silently into the fire.
“And what happened next?”
“Oh, excuse me! That is about all. During the hubbub and slaughter
my people hauled me from beneath the big chap and I was hurried
away. I remember, as we ran through the chambers near the little
court, I heard my friends still laughing at the monkeys.”
He seemed to consider the story finished. “May I fool with that fire?”
he asked.
“Certainly, but what was all the fighting about?”
As the fire was encouraged into a fresher life he answered: “I never
knew distinctly. That night a few others and myself went down to the
river, through the gardens, were rowed to a little steamer and taken
aboard. We sailed down a long river, and afterward a big steamer
brought three of us to America. And then to Daleford.”
“Why on earth to Daleford?”
“Because it was desirable to land me in some amusing metropolis,
and I suppose the choice lay between Paris and Daleford. Daleford,
of course, won.”
“I beg your pardon,” she hastened to say. “My curiosity seems to be
running away with me.”
“Oh, please do not apologize. There is no secret about Daleford. I
only answered in that way as I suddenly realized how refreshing it
must be to hear a stranger tell pathetic stories about himself. It is I
who apologize. They brought me to Daleford through Mr. Judd’s
brother, who was a good friend and was with us at that row.”
He stood before the fire with the poker in his hand, and looked down
with a smile as he continued: “I believe you have never been to
Daleford, but if you were a field-mouse that could sleep all winter,
and didn’t care to be disturbed in summer, you would find it an ideal
spot. If you were a field-mouse of average social instincts you would
never pull through.”
“And yet Mr. Fettiplace advises us to go there.”
“Oh, that’s for a summer only, and is quite different.”
From Daleford they went to other subjects, but to her his own career
proved of far greater interest, and the usual topics seemed
commonplace and uneventful by comparison. Delicately and with
subtle tact, she made one or two efforts to get further information
regarding his childhood and the fabulous jewels, but her endeavors
were vain. Of himself he talked no more. In a sense, however, she
was rewarded by a somewhat surprising discovery in relation to his
mental furniture. When the conversation turned incidentally upon
literature she found him in the enjoyment of an ignorance so vast
and so comprehensive that it caused her, at first, to doubt the
sincerity of his own self-conviction. Of her favorite books he had not
read one. To him the standard novelists were but names. Of their
works he knew nothing. This ignorance he confessed cheerfully and
without shame.
“But what do you do with yourself?” she demanded. “Do you never
read anything?”
“Oh, yes; I have not forgotten my letters. For modern facts I read the
papers, and for the other side of life I take poetry. But the modern
novel is too severe a punishment. It is neither poetry nor wisdom.”
Until the two other men came down from the library she had no idea
of the lateness of the hour. Mr. Fettiplace laid a hand on the young
man’s shoulder and, with a roseate smile, explained the situation.
“This fellow is from the country, Miss Molly, and you must excuse him
for expecting, when invited out to dinner, that he is to remain to
breakfast.”
A moment or two later, as the three men were standing before the
fire, she was astonished by a bit of unexpected wisdom. He was
regarding with apparent interest a little etching that hung near the
mantel, when Mr. Cabot explained that it was a very old one he had
purchased in Germany, and represented the battle of Hennersdorf.
Mr. Judd thought it must be the battle of Mollwitz, and gave as
reasons for his belief the position of the Prussians in relation to a
certain hill and the retreat of the Austrian cavalry at that stage of the
fight. Mr. Cabot, obviously surprised at these details, replied,
jokingly, that he was not in a position to contradict a soldier who was
present at the battle.
This afforded great amusement to the rubicund guest, who
exclaimed:
“You might as well back right down, Jim! Amos is simply a walking
cyclopædia of military facts; and not a condensed one either! He can
give you more reliable details of that battle than Frederick himself,
and of every other battle that has ever been fought, from Rameses
to U. S. Grant. He remembers everything; why the victors were
victorious and how the defeated might have won. I believe he sleeps
and eats with the great conquerors. You ought to see his library. It is
a gallery of slaughter, containing nothing but records of carnage—
and poetry. Nothing interests him like blood and verses. Just think,”
he continued, turning to Molly, “just think of wasting your life in the
nineteenth century when you feel that you possess a magnificent
genius for wholesale murder that can never have a show!”
There was more bantering, especially between the older men, a
promise to visit Daleford, and the two guests departed.
 IV
IN April the Cabots took their trip to Daleford and found it even more
inviting than Mr. Fettiplace had promised. The spacious house
among the elms, with its quaint old flower-garden, the air, the hills,
the restful beauty of the country, were temptations not to be resisted,
and within another month they were comfortably adjusted and felt at
home.
The house, which had formerly belonged to Mr. Morton Judd, stood
several hundred feet from the road at the end of an avenue of wide-
spreading maples. This avenue was the continuation of another and
a similar avenue extending to the house of Josiah Judd, directly
opposite, and the same distance from the highway. As you stood at
either end it was an unbroken arch from one residence to the other.
When Mr. Morton Judd was married, some fifty years ago, his father
had erected this abode for him, but the young man soon after went
to India, where as a merchant and a financier he achieved success,
and where both he and his wife now lay at rest. Although covering as
much ground, the house was less imposing than the more venerable
mansion at the other end of the avenue.
The journey beneath the maples proved such a pleasant one and
was so easily made as to invite a certain familiarity of intercourse
that the Cabots saw no good reason to discourage. Mrs. Judd, a
strong-framed woman with a heavy chin, whose failing memory
seemed her only weakness, was now about eighty years of age, and
generally sat by a sunny window in the big dining-room, where she
rocked and knitted from morning till night, paying little attention to
what went on about her. If Amos had been her own son she could
not have loved him more, and this affection was returned in full with
an unceasing thoughtfulness and care. Both Molly and her father
were gratified at finding in this young man a neighbor whose society
it seemed safe to encourage. He proved a sensible, unpretending
person, fond of fun and pleasure, but with plenty of convictions;
these convictions, however, while a source of amusement to Mr.
Cabot, were not always accepted by the daughter. They were often
startling departures from his education and environment, and
showed little respect for conventionalities. He never attended church,
but owned a pew in each of the five temples at Daleford, and to each
of these societies he was a constant and liberal contributor. For three
of them he had given parsonages that were ornaments to the village,
and as the sectarian spirit in that locality was alive and hot these
generous gifts had produced alternating outbursts of thankfulness
and rage, all of which apparently caused neither surprise nor
annoyance to the young philosopher. When Molly Cabot told him,
after learning this, that it would indicate a more serious Christian
spirit if he paid for but a single pew and sat in it, he answered:
“But that spirit is just the evil I try to escape, for your good Christian
is a hot sectarian. It is the one thing in his religion he will fight and
die for, and it seems to me the one thing he ought to be ashamed of.
If any one sect is right and the others wrong it is all a hideous joke
on the majority, and a proper respect for the Creator prevents my
believing in any such favoritism.”
Occasionally the memory of his offensive title obtruded itself as a bar
to that confidence which is the foundation of friendship, but as she
knew him better it became more difficult to believe that he could ever
have been, in its coarser sense, what that title signified. As regarded
herself, there was never on his part the faintest suggestion of
anything that could be interpreted as love-making, or even as the
mildest attempt at a flirtation. She found him under all conditions
simple and unassuming, and, she was forced to admit, with no
visible tokens of that personal vanity with which she had so lavishly
endowed him. His serious business in life was the management of
the Judd farm, and although the care and development of his
animals was more of a recreation than a rigid necessity he wasted
little money in unsuccessful experiments. Mr. Cabot soon discovered
that he was far more practical and business-like than his leisurely
manners seemed to indicate. The fondness for animals that seemed
one of his strongest characteristics was more an innate affection
than a breeder’s fancy. Every animal on his place, from the
thoroughbred horses to the last litter of pups, he regarded more as
personal friends than as objects of commercial value.
When Mr. Cabot and Molly made their first visit to the farm, they
noticed in the corner of a field a number of dejected horses huddled
solemnly together. Most of them were well beyond middle age and
bore the clearest indications of a future that was devoid of promise.
They gazed at the visitors with listless eyes, and as a congregation
seemed burdened with most of the physical imperfections of extreme
antiquity.
“What on earth are those?” asked Mr. Cabot. “Revolutionary relics?
They are too fat for invalids.”
“A few friends of my youth.”
“I should think from the number you have here that you never
disposed of your old friends,” said Mr. Cabot.
“Only when life is a burden.”
“Well, I am glad to see them,” said Molly, as she patted one or two of
the noses that were thrust toward her. “It does you credit. I think it is
horrid to sell a horse that has used himself up in your service.”
As the father and daughter walked homeward along the avenue of
maples, Mr. Cabot spoke of the pleasure the young man derived
from his animals, and the good sense he displayed in the
management of his farm.
“Yes,” said Molly, “and he seems too boyish and full of fun for
anything very weird or uncanny. But Mr. Fettiplace certainly believed
in something of that kind, didn’t he?”
“Of course, or he wouldn’t be Fettiplace. That sort of thing is always
interesting, and the world is full of people who can believe anything if
they once put their minds on it. Who is that in our yard?”
“Deacon White, I think. He has come to train up some plants for me.”
A moment later she took her father’s arm and asked, with affected
humility: “Jimsey, will you do something?”
“No, for it’s sure to be foolish.”
“Well, you are right, but you can do it so much better than I. Deacon
White has probably known Mr. Judd ever since he was a little boy,
and he would be glad of an opportunity to tell what he knows and
give us all the town talk besides. I do wish you would just start him
off.”
“Start him off! On what? Judd’s private history? On the delicate
matters he doesn’t wish advertised?”
“No, no! Of course not, papa! How unpleasant you are! I only want
him to throw some light on the mysterious things Mr. Fettiplace
alluded to.”
“I shall do nothing of the kind. If you really have a thirst for that sort
of knowledge, get a copy of Hans Andersen. He has a better style
than Deacon White.”
A few moments later, when Molly and the Deacon were alone in the
old garden, her desire for information was gratified to an unhoped-for
extent, and the information was of a more detailed and astonishing
character than she would have presumed to ask for. The Deacon, a
little, round-shouldered, narrow-chested man of seventy, with a sun-
dried face, an enormous nose, and a long receding chin with a white
beard beneath, possessed a pair of wide-awake eyes that seemed
many years younger than himself.
“I never have anything to do with roses without thinkin’ of Amos. Did
you ever notice his?”
“Yes; they are splendid ones.”
“Ain’t they! Well, one mornin’, when he was a little boy, I was helpin’
him set out roses along the side of the house where the big trellis is,
and he said he wanted red ones, not yellow ones. I said: ‘These are
red ones. They are cut from the same slip as the others, and they’ve
got to be red whether they want to or not.’ Pretty soon Josiah came
out, and Amos said to him that he could see ’em next spring and
they would all be yellow. And what took me all aback was that Josiah
believed it, and tried to persuade him that he might like yellow ones
for a change. And I tell you,” said the Deacon, as he fixed his little
young eyes on her face to watch his effect, “I just stood with my