_Nikhil_, you see, considers that "all
imposition of force is weakness," and that "only the weak dare not be
just." Most Westerners, I think, would have kicked the rhapsodical and
rather plausible agitator out-of-doors and felt all the better for it
from the boot-toe upwards. The real truth is that the story, which is
written in the form of a triple autobiography (_Nikhil, Sandip_ and
_Bimala_ all taking a hand at telling it in turn) is an exposition of
two views of Suadeshi, or what may be called the Sinn Fein movement in
India. _Nikhil_ is the apostle of "self-realisation" as a moral force;
_Sandip_ believes in grabbing whatever you can. The latter first deifies
his country (_Bande Mataram,_ or "Hail, Mother!" is the Nationalist
motto) and then identifies _Bimala_ with the object of his worship,
which seems a very convenient theory. As for _Bimala_, she wavers
between the two. The romantic interest of the book (which is, by the
way, a translation) breaks down rather badly when it becomes clear that
_Sandip_ is not really a big enough man to make a complete conquest
of the Rani; but from every other point of view it is supremely
interesting.
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