 country as ancient as it is modern, moving as history moves across the threshold of the past. For 5,000 years, wave after wave of the peoples of Asia have streamed across India's borders. Conquerors, immigrants, soldiers, holy men and scholars, pilgrims of many creeds and of many races have woven their customs, traditions and beliefs into a continuous and intricate pattern of civilization and of beauty. They have farmed and they have fought. They have loved and they have prayed. They have fought and they have played. They have built monuments and palaces and temples and cities. They have written poetry and they have sung songs for 5,000 years and they have moved as history moves into the contemporary world of today. Delhi has been called the city of seven capitals, the seat of power of seven ancient dynasties. New Delhi is now the seat of power of India's democratic republic. In February 1962, the world's largest democracy went to the polls for the third time in the history of the 12-year-old republic. Over 100 million voters cast their ballots in and for the democratic process, the process of free elections. March the 12th, 1962. A new session of parliament opens. Dr. Rajendra Prasad once more takes his place. The first democratically elected successor to India's past heads of state, India's first president. Also on this day, March the 12th, 1962, India, her people, and Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru expect a visitant. From a sister democracy 9,000 miles across oceans and continents, accompanied by the American ambassador Kenneth Galbraith, comes Mrs. Jacqueline Kennedy, wife of the 35th president of the United States and her sister, invited guests of the Prime Minister and of his daughter. Mrs. John F. Kennedy, a lover of the arts and the mother of two young children, brings to the people of India the greetings of the people of her own country, also a people of varied backgrounds and customs, of many faiths and races and beliefs. The United States Embassy in the center of New Delhi, combining modern architectural techniques and ancient Indian motifs, reflects the new world and the old, and the longstanding friendship between our countries, between the United States and India. Mrs. Kennedy has a special interest in the culture and traditions, old and new, of the world she is about to enter. This is India, 1962, kings and emperors and explorers of five centuries ago, new and treasured the silk of Banaras. Today, the ancient art of weaving joins the 20th century in a procession of silks, brocades and muslins for fashions that go around the world. The continuity of artistic tradition moves in an unbroken line from the variety and richness of the past to the living art of today. Art reaches across many barriers, makes many friends. In her own land, Jacqueline Kennedy has given a new place of importance to the American artist. Mrs. Kennedy finds in the young Indian artists who have come to meet her a welcome close to her heart. Mrs. Gandhi, my friends, it gives me great pleasure to present to you today the children's art carnival, a present to the children of India. I've often noticed the art of children is the same, the world over and so of course is our feeling for children. I think it is good in a world where there's quite enough to divide people that we should cherish a language and an emotion that unite us all. Thank you. It's from the Prime Minister's gardens in the center of modern New Delhi is measured not only in air miles to Jaipur, capital of the state of Rajasthan. It is also measured in years, taking the American visitor on the first step of her journey into India's past, to the land of the Rajputs, of Waria and Prince. Elephants and emperors have always been friends. The rocky road up the hill to the Umbair palace was once traveled on the lumbering backs of elephants by Raja Man Singh in the first and his retinue of court followers 350 years ago. Alexander the Great marched his armies out of India with 200 elephants. Tamur of Samarkand with nearly a thousand, a long time ago. Doubt from the terrace of the palace his fathers had built and saw the pleasant planes below. He decided it was time to come out of the fortified hills. In 1728 he built Jaipur, the pink city, one of the first planned cities of its day. Tumas of discontent if there were any would allow to reach this monarch's ears in the courtyards of the city palace or the corridors of the Hawa Mahal, the palace of the winds. Maharaja Sawaj I Singh was a scientist. He preferred to think about the shape of the earth, the universe and the stars. Mrs. Kennedy's journey continues back into time. Another city, another age, another monument. The year 1569. The city abandoned, the emperor long since gone, the monument remains. Marble and mother of pearl to honor the tomb of a saint. In Fatipur Sikri the saint Salim Chisti prophesied that the great emperor would have the son he dearly wanted. And so the story is told, Akbar the Great did have a son and his son had a son. The monuments of India's historical past do not however belong to the past. They belong to each new day and to the people who live it. To priests and to scholar, merchant and villager, to neighbor, to stranger, to friend. This is the monument the son of the son of the great Akbar built. A garden of cypress, a pool of still water and a dome of pure marble. Behind a pierced marble screen, emperor Shah Jahan entombed the body of his dead wife. Three centuries have gone by year by year, hour by hour. The sky of India touching to immortality the tomb of the emperor's work, the Taj Mahal. An emperor's monument to love and to death. Benares, a people's monument as ancient as the sacred Ganges that flows along its bank. A people's monument to the life of India itself. To the holy city of temples and of minarets. To the city of the sacred river and to nearby Sarnath. Where Lord Buddha preached his first sermon more than 2,000 years ago. Come millions of India's pilgrims, come India's friends. Immense and sprawling life of Benares is a reminder that the people of India form one sixth of the peoples of the world. Fittest in time and in space from the start of the American journey into India. The medieval city of Udaipur with the sunlight still falling on its ancient walls. Moving towards tomorrow, the white city is already a seat of learning. And India's five-year plan will bring further means of economic growth and modernization to its people. A window on Udaipur's lake Pachola opens. And as in many other parts of India, Mrs. Kennedy once more looks out on a changing day. On a day of legendary beauty. And its people, and this made my visit possible. At the end of every day, I could not decide which day was the best. Each day brought new experiences, new friends, and a new welcome. It was a wonderful surprise to meet our own American pioneers of the peace corps, so many miles from home. Going the unknown ways in my husband's words requires many gifts of character and a confident vision of the future. I believe that both the people in India and we in our own country share this vision. For the gentle man who went his way softly, no marble or ivory monument is needed. Strong in spirit as he was frail in body, Mahatma Gandhi's memorial is in the hearts of his people and in the thoughts of those everywhere who seek to maintain freedom and to secure peace. The unity of God, the oneness of the universe, the brotherhood of man, the age-old articles of faith of the people of Islam have begun to acquire new meaning today in the life of the young nation of Pakistan, a national homeland for the Muslim people. In heritages of a tradition and a culture whose roots go deep into the ancient past, Pakistanis look to their faith to guide their nation's future. The future of any nation, young or old, lies with their children. The mother of two young children, Mrs. Kennedy knows what it means to bring a smile to the face of a sick child. Among the gifts she has brought from the United States to Jinnah Hospital, not the least is Mrs. Kennedy's own delight in making a new young friend. Never far from Pakistan's hope for the future are her memories of the past. Through the ancient streets of Peshawar gateway to Pakistan's northwest frontier, Mrs. Kennedy follows the route history followed. Kiseh Khani, the bizarre the storytellers, for centuries a meeting place of soldier and tribesmen of merchant and scholar on their way down a long stretch of perilous road from the mountain reaches of the Khyber Pass. Descendants of the tribesmen of old still guard the bleak approaches to the pass. The tribal Malik still welcome friends in the traditional way with the traditional gifts. The Khyber Rifles, historical defenders of the fertile valley of the Indus, of the land below the mountains. Century after century, friend and invader travel this road. Armies and caravans bound for the riches of the great subcontinent of Asia. Alexander of Macedonia, Genghis Khan, Timur of Samarkand, swept down across these mountains. Sun down at the governor's house in Peshawar. The drums of the Khyber tribesmen no longer sound for battle but revive for the American visitor in ancient ritual. The Kutaks dance. Celebrating a young tradition in the ancient city of Lahore. Pakistani national horse and cattle show. President Ayub's gift to Mrs. Kennedy. Sadah, descendant of an Ascot winner, traces his ancestry back to the fame stables of the Aga Khan. Cymbal of the warmth of the welcome the visitor from America received wherever she went. From the distant plains of Texas and the subways of New York are brought to Bashir, the camel driver, the good wishes of many Americans and the greetings of Mrs. Kennedy and her sister. Bashir has his own contribution to make to Mrs. Kennedy's visit to Pakistan. In the search for identity, for purpose and for a place in the 20th century, Pakistan has not forgotten man's need to dream. Three years ago, the Shalimar gardens brought repose to a Mughal emperor. Today, the gardens offer repose and delight to anyone who seeks it. I must say, I'm profoundly impressed by the reverence which you and Pakistan have for your art and for your culture and for the use which you make of it now. My own countrymen, too, have applied in their traditions. So I think as I stand in these gardens which were built long before my country was born, that that's one more thing that binds us together and which always will. I had always heard of Pakistan's proverbial hospitality and it was even more than I had expected. I hope that with my husband I will be able to return again soon to this vital and beautiful country.