HARILAL
Sure. I knew. But do you know, Nathuram, that my greatest fear has always been that I would someday wear rags and go begging, like you and your father? Yes, I woke to modern realities. They wanted imported pottery, so I sold it to them. Maybe I lost your type of dignity, Krishna, but I became aware of other kinds of dignity. I live in a clean house now, and I have a healthy wife; we can afford all the meals we eat. You think I crawled along the ground for this, but you are wrong, Krishna. All I had to do was fill out order blanks and speak to salesmen--and I'm richer now than I ever was before. There's no crawling in it. Salesmen show me their lines and I choose the ones that will sell. Of course I've changed. I'm no longer poor, and I no longer make my own merchandise. But look at yourselves: is it not about time you changed too?
(Enter young American pottery salesman)
SALESMAN
Say, Harry, is this the guy you were telling me about?
HARILAL
This is my American friend, Mr. Darius. Yes, this is Krishna Moksa. And that is Nathuram.
SALESMAN
Oh yea? Are you the assistant here, Nathan?
NATHURAM
I am a beggar. I do not belong here, Mr. Darilal.
SALESMAN
The name is Darius. Here's something for you.
NATHURAM
Thank you, thank you Mr. Darilal.
