in northern India 25 centuries ago.nWhat did he conclude? All life isnsuffering. Nothing is permanent. Thenego is an illusion. Escape this sufferingnby using your mind—prayers and supplicationsnare meaningless. Whynshould the universe worry about you?nBe a lamp unto yourself.nHis symbol is the lotus: an incrediblynbeautiful purple flower coming up outnof India’s filth. No wonder Buddhanwanted out of the cycle. He achievednnirvana. The art of living transformedninto living art . . .nYet the Indians rejected Buddha—njust as the Jews rejected Jesus. Butn”rejected” isn’t the right word for India.nHinduism smothered Buddhismnwith its all-encompassing embrace.nEverything is possible, nothing is certain.nHere art imitates life. After death,nrebirth: the two dominant film stars,nVinod Khanna and Dimple Kapadia,nsuddenly rise from the cinematic scrapnheap to born-again stardom. The televisionncraze for the latest Westernnprograms disappears, as the two mostnpopular serials (Buniyad and Ramayana),nhark back to ancient epics. PrimenMinister Rajiv Gandhi, who seemed sonpopular and secure, begins to bear anregrettable resemblance to his mother.nHis ideology is increasingly the “I” innthe Congress and among a coterie ofnfriends who form the most exclusivencountry club in the country.nGovernments change, but Hinduismnremains. To know India, one has tonknow this. On to Benares (which Indiansncall Kashi) — Shiva’s birthplace,nhome of the gods, navel of the world.nThis is a Holy City: the Hindus’ Meccanand Jerusalem all in one. There isnno place like it—a motley ragamuffinnveneer, hiding the sacred under thensordid. People and animals crowdedninto narrow winding streets that werenwell-worn before Babylon fell. Palinchants, kerosene lamps, smoking cowndung. Pigs, boars, dogs, ducks, goats,ncows, oxen, water buffalo … a hundrednthousand widows, migrating tonKashi to beg from pilgrims who comenday and night. In their midst, swarmsnof Japanese tourists, clicking duty-freencameras.nI, too, carry a camera: icon of thenoutsider, of one who does not known(like Buddha) that all things are impermanent.nCan the camera stop time,ncatch the moment, or at least thenillusion? In a world alive with incrediblenimages, what does one photograph?nWalking towards Mother Gangan(the Ganges River), I suddenly confrontna leathery, ageless old womannwith the noble face one finds in cavenpaintings. She is blind. Perhaps if I amnvery quiet . . . but she hears me.n”Who are you? What do you want?”n”Only to take your picture.” “Why?”n”Because I like your beautiful face.”n”Picture cost you money.” “Fine. I’llnpay you.” Less cautious now, I find angood angle, click. She begins to talk.nHer husband was killed years ago in thenGreat War. She went blind. Her chil­nTHOMAS JEFFERSON ONnIMMIGRATIONnCivil government being the sole objectnof forming societies, its administrationnmust be conducted by common consent.nEvery species of government has itsnspecific principles. Ours perhaps arenmore peculiar than those of any other innthe universe. It is a composition of thenfreest principles of the Englishnconstitution, with others derived fromnnatural right and natural reason. Tonthese nothing can be more opposed thannthe maxims of absolute monarchies. Yet,nfrom such, we are to expect the greatestnnumber of emigrants. They will bringnwith them the principles of the governmentsnthey leave, imbibed in their earlynyouth; or, if able to throw them off, it willnbe in exchange for an unbounded licentiousness,npassing, as is usual, from onenextreme to another. It would be a miraclenwere they to stop precisely at thenpoint of temperate liberty. These principles,nwith their language, they will trans­nLIBERAL ARTSnnndren deserted her. Now a neighbornbrings her every day to this spot, takesnher home at night. Sometimes peoplengive her money — what do blind peoplendo in my country? We talk. Instammer. I hurt for her. “I must go,”nholding out the money.n”No money,” she says sternly.n”Please, I have plenty, and I promisedn…” She is firm. “No money.nYou are my son.”nPassage to more than India.nMarshall W. Fishwick is a professornof communications at Virginia Tech innBlacksburg.nmit to their children. In proportion tontheir numbers, they will share with usnthe legislation. They will infuse into itntheir spirit, warp and bias its direction,nand render it a heterogeneous, incoherent,ndistracted mass. I may appeal tonexperience, during the present contest,nfor a verification of these conjectures.nBut, if they be not certain in event, arenthey not possible, are they not probable?nIs it not safer to wait with patience 27nyears and three months longer, for thenattainment of any degree of populationndesired, or expected? May not our governmentnbe more homogeneous, morenpeaceable, more durable? Suppose 20nmillions of republican Americansnthrown all of a sudden into France, whatnwould be the condition of that kingdom?nIf it would be more turbulent, less happy,nless strong, we may believe that thenaddition of half a million of foreigners tonour present numbers would produce ansimilar effect here.n—from Notes on The State of Virginia,npublished 1787.nMARCH 1989/43n