Most people when they talk of India, most books when they treat of India, are concerned with its differences from the rest of the world. It is the appearance and the dress of its peoples, their customs and habits, their superstitions and religions, that are explained and wondered at.

That is not so here. In this book little or nothing is said of any of these matters; they do not interest me; they are superficial, and I do not care for surface things; they are what divide, and truth is what unites.

It is of the humanity which India shares with the rest of the world, the hearts that beat always the same under whatever skin, the ideals that can never be choked by no matter what customs or religions, that this book is concerned with.

India sees life through different windows than we do; but her eyes are as our eyes, and she has the same desires as we have. She has been nearly dead or sleeping for long, but at last she moves. She is awake or waking. Should it not be our task, our pleasure and our pride, to help her early steps along the path of conscious strength that leads to a national life such as that we have been proud of? And to do so must we not try to understand her?

Have we ever tried?

I do not think we have; but the time is coming when, unless we can go hand in hand with her along her path to nationhood, she will desert us. Her destiny is calling her; shall we keep her back?

We cannot keep her back. "No one can be more wise than Destiny." And if we stand in her way, who will suffer like we shall? For her sake and for ours should we not try to understand?

This book is an attempt at a beginning.

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