 From the dazzling crest of the Himalayas, to the humid shores of the Indian Ocean, stretches a timeless mystic land, rich with a pattern of life through forgotten centuries. India. Its frontier guarded by forbidding peaks wears always the sense of brooding peril. In the Midland deserts, dust clouds dance away from creaking primitive water wheels. The steaming lowland villages throb incessantly with the rhythm of native drums. Up and down over the forested roads of India, past glittering princes, peasants, half-naked holy men, soldiers, elephants and tigers roam the jungles. Temples, mosques, shrines of a hundred gods and half gods crowd the cities and countryside. Teaming with life, prodigal of jewels and gold, land of fabulous wealth and of famine, India. On India's northern border, the protective wall of the Himalayas is broken by the Khyber Pass, through which it poured the conquerors of her ancient civilization. Macedonians, Afghans, Mongols came, saw, conquered and disappeared in the dust, while Mother India placidly endured. Then came the soldiers of the Crescent. 1536. Under the Mohammedan Babur, the Muslim horde swept through the Khyber and founded the Mogul dynasty. The golden age of India had begun. Unequal since the world began was the magnificence of the barbaric court of Delhi. A river of rubies, pearls, emeralds and diamonds poured through the hands of the artisans, fashioning palaces and thrones of the great Moguls. And as tales of this splendor spread through the world, European nations began to covet India's opulence. In the year 1601, in the Hall of Private Audience, the great Mogul Akbar has received an English emissary. Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth of England has granted a charter to the East India Company and with its sole right of trading with all countries lying beyond the Cape of Good Hope or straight to Magellan during a period of 15 years. In the name of Her Majesty, I venture to request your friendly acceptance of these trading merchants when they send their representatives to Delhi. You may tell your Queen on whom be the blessing of our that whatever can be done to promote commerce between England and India will be gladly done. But instantly, feuds sprang up among the English, Dutch and Portuguese traders. The East India Company hired and trained native soldiers to protect their interests. 1684, Charles II grants the East India Company a revised charter. The East India Company is hereby granted the right to acquire territory in India to coin money, to command fortresses and troops, to form alliances, to make war and peace and to exercise civil and criminal jurisdiction over whatever territory they may in time possess. Out to India then began the procession of adventurers, traders, soldiers of fortune under the protection of the East India Company. Peasants looked up from their fields of rice to find they must pay taxes to the white sides. Meanwhile, the East India Company is hereby granted to find they must pay taxes to the white sides. Meanwhile, in the desolate hills of Hyderabad, French and English traders alike had heard of a magic city, Golconda. Out of the jewel-studded earth came diamonds whose varying names ring with romance and legend. The great Mogal Diamond, weight 787 carats. The Olaf Diamond, stolen from the eye of an idol in a Hindu temple, given to Catherine the Great by her lover, Prince Olaf. A foreigner, worn by Mogal Emperors, taken as loot by the Persian Nadir Shah, now an acceptor of England's king. The reagent Baman, weight 410 carats. Moon of the mountains, in the Russian crown jewel. The Florentine Diamond, among the crown jewels of Austria. When Allah Uddin conquered the country, he took from the Hindu ruler Ramchandra 160 pounds of diamonds. Today, Golconda is empty. The great fortress still towers over the deserted city. On the height above, a tiny Hindu temple reminds men silently that only the gods endure. In ever-increasing splendor, the Mogal Emperors reigned. Akbar moved the capital to Agra, built a great fortress with walls that shone like topaz. There, one day in the year 1605, he speaks with his eldest son, Selim. My son, it has come to my ears that you still desire to marry the wife of an African officer in the court. His rumor is false. I will have the standards tortured. It is true, my father. I have told you. I will never permit her husband to divorce her. So you may add her to your Zanana. You know that since I visited Lahore as a young prince, I have loved Zaria. I was 15 then, now I am 35. It is unworthy of a Mogal prince to speak of enduring love for a woman. When I command the Mahuta to guide my husband into the street that passes through windows, I am breathless with the knowledge that she may be watching from behind the lattices. The very air about her dwelling is profumed with her spirit. Enough! I am an old man. You will soon be ruler of India. I command you to put this woman out of your mind. As well ask me to disregard the shining of the sun or the call of the Moes into prayer. May Allah grant you many years of life, my father. But when the moment comes that I am emperor, I will have Zaria. Nothing shall keep her from my arms. Majesty? Have you brought your sister Zaria to the palace as I commanded Asafkan? Yes, sire. Where is she? She was taken to the women's quarters to await your majesty's summons. You have done well. And you shall be rewarded. Sire, I... You have a favor to ask? No, sire. I... Do not fear to speak. I hesitate to remind your majesty that your father, on whom be the blessing of Allah, forbade your majesty to bring my sister to the palace. And if... My father is dead, may he rest in paradise. And I am no longer Prince Salim but Emperor Yahungir. Yes, majesty? Bring in the lady Zaria. Yes, majesty? I will speak to her alone, Asafkan. Sire? Silence. I will speak to her alone. Leave me with her when she comes. Yes, sire. Here is the lady, sire. Bring her in. See that Asafkan has sherbet and cakes. Serve him in the garden. Yes, majesty? I will summon you presently, Asafkan. As you say, sire. You love it. No, do not kneel to me. It is I who should kneel to you. I have waited 20 years for this moment. I kiss your fingers. Your majesty, I... Oh, I will not call you majesty. But Salim, as I did when we were children in La Hore. Oh, could you think me like him in modesty? I think you are everything that is lovely. For 20 years I have lived in darkness. And today, even though your eyes are veiled, they have brought me light. Salim, say I shall belong to you forever. And I shall call you Nur Jahan, light of the world. You shall not only be my wife, but the share of my throne, Empress of India. And so Nur Jahan became the only queen of Islam ever to rule with her husband. At their death, Jahangir's son Shah Jahan comes to the throne, builds for his bride, Mumtaz Mahal, a palace exquisite as a fabric of a dream. In the jasmine tower of the palace a few years later, he sits beside a window. His architect stands before him. The very heart has gone from me. When I returned from the wars to find Mumtaz Mahal dying, I too longed for death. You have remembered my words to make her tomb beautiful as she was beautiful. Yes, your majesty. Tell me of your plans. It will be a square structure of white marble. The center of the roof will be an alabaster dome. At each corner a minaret. The great doors will be carved from translucent agate so the light will fall softly within. About the doorways, bands of flowers inlaid with jewels. What of the interior? The walls are to be a finely carved pure white marble with a tracery of jewels. And the diocese on which the Mumtaz sarcophagus will be placed is to be paved with precious stones. Swear by the 99 names of Allah that not one flower carved in this tomb shall ever be repeated. I swear it, Sire, it is well. The work shall begin at once on the Taj Mahal. Now the years are moving swiftly. The Mughal Empire weakens but the great East India Company grows ever more powerful. Every trading post is fortified. Companies of native troops, officers by Englishmen, are at its command. Among these is Robert Clive, young company clerk turned soldier. June 1756. The East India Company's governor in Calcutta receives the ruler of Lower Bengal, Suraj Adala. You say this relative of yours has come to Calcutta? It is true, Sahib. Marked for my vengeance, he escaped from my palace and has claimed protection in your fort. Give him to me. I will have him torn to bits and tempered by elephants before my eyes. I'm afraid I'll have to refuse to surrender him to you. But he is my cousin and he is marked for my vengeance. Nevertheless, he's under my protection here and I can't turn him over to you to be killed. I demand his release. And I refuse. By all the gods, they shall never be forgotten as long as one stone of Calcutta remains upon another. The city is being attacked with a measure of vengeance. I serve your good power. I order all English people in Calcutta to take refuge on the ships lying at Uncle Harbour. They will sail down the river until the danger is over. Take your family. If this goes on in the city, you'd not believe. Will you come, Captain Clive? Of course. We'll make a forced march to the jungle. Here, sit there and rest. We'll take you back with us. Through the steaming jungle in the deadly tropical heat, Clive leads his army to the relief of Calcutta and captures the city. He sets up headquarters at the garrison. There's a wounded Hindu out here, sir. Seems to be trying to tell us something. Where is he? Here, sir. They're going. You'll never get him to talk. What is it? Let me get down there. I saw you. Yes, yes. Mem. Saw you. Pri... Pri... I'm there. Prisoners? Where? Prisoners. We saw no prisoners. Captain! Yes, sir. Where are our prisoners, Captain, is for? Across the court there, sir. But there's only been a small garrison here. The guard room's only about 20 feet square. There can't be many prisoners in it. Besides, they'd have called out to us when we took the fort. Come on, let's see. All right, now, be quick, men. Take down the vials. Yes, sir. There's a lock beside, sir. Now we'd have to break it. Who's in there? There can't be any one here, sir. Lead on through here. There you are, sir. It's broken. Pull the door open. They must have been wedged right up against the door. So they fell out when we opened it, sir. Oh, what devil are those Hindus? Are the prisoners all dead, sir? Yes, yes, of course they must be. We'll bring them here for examination. Listen. Listen, there's a woman in there alive. Let's get them out quickly. It's like a furnace, sir. I'll be surprised if any of them are alive. The room's packed solid with them. They couldn't even fall over when they died. Yes, yes, sir. Easy there. Give her water. Here, here, I'll take her. You men get the rest of them out there. Here, drink this. Oh, hot. I can't breathe. You're going to be all right. Yes, you can. There, there, that's better, that's better. Try and talk now. The boat sir, I had gone. Yes. We... Yes, yes, you're all right. They forced us all into that room last night. Devils, tell me, were you the only woman? No. Oh, the ten of us. Are they all dead? We don't know yet. Three more women alive, sir, and 19 men. And there were 146 put in that black hole last night. The black hole of Calcutta? We'll spell the end of the Suraj Udalla. Coldly, steadily, Clive takes up the trail of Suraj Udalla. One stifling morning in June 1757, in the Fort of Calcutta, Mere Jaffir, a follower of Suraj Udalla calls on Captain Clive. Well, Mere Jaffir, you're willing to betray him? Are there many French troops at Classe? I do not know how many French soldiers there are, but Suraj Udalla has told me he has 35,000 foot soldiers and 15,000 horsemen. There are also 50 cannons. I must have money before I go. I'll give you part of the money now, part of it when the battle is over. Will you wait outside while I send with the money? As you say, Saib. There will be no trickery. No, no, no trickery, no trickery. Mausoleum! Yes, sir. You're not going to trust him, sir. Never fear. I have known Mere Jaffir for a long time. If it wasn't for his fear of torture, he'd have quit fighting long ago. But we have only 3,000 men and 2,000 of them are sepoys. Yes, yes, they are. But don't forget the element of surprise. Send the sergeant major to me. Yes, sir. And after that, the clock. Tell him I shall want 10,000 pounds. Yes, sir. You'll have no chance if we get out where they can reach us. Well, that's nearly noon, sir. And this has been going on since six this morning. Have you done thought in my opinion, sir? Oh, no, I haven't. You're waiting to see. What's happened, sir? They've still firing. They've stopped to eat their dinner. They always do. Now's our time. They'll never suspect we'd attack in this awful heat. What? Now, sir? Now. To our places. At the gunsmen. Over the bay. Seize the outpost. Storm the camp. The victory of Clive at Plassie makes the East India Company the ruling power of India. Native states fall into its hands. Native armies police the towns and trading stations. As the years go by, native insurrection flares is quelled by stern measures. Then the British law is passed prohibiting the burning of widows with their husband's bodies and the killing of girl babies under the old caste ritual. Hindus are outraged. In the year 1857, the governor of Calcutta talked with General Hersey, a native officer. Now, General, what's the trouble about the cartridges? As you know, Your Excellency, with our muzzle-loading muskets, the cartridge end must be bitten off, releasing the powder into the barrel. Yes. When? The cartridge ends are greased. And yesterday, a high caste soldier was trodded by a low caste seapoy with being defiled. Because he had put into his mouth the fat cows and pigs. Good Lord. Do you wonder, I say, I'm sitting on a powder mine, Your Excellency? No. General Hersey, there's only one thing to be done. Pass the word among your officers that hereafter only clarified butter will be used to grease the cartridges. And the men may grease them themselves, if they wish. Will that satisfy them? I can only tell them. But if word of this has begun to spread, it will go like wildfire. Coupled with the new laws, it may cause a holy war that will trench India with blood. No, then. Do what you can. But the harm was done. Down with the white sites, they have defiled us all. Avenge Hindu honor. Down with them. They have defiled us. Avenge our honor. Mutiny. Mutiny. Mutiny. Mutiny. Mutiny. Mutiny. Mutiny. Mutiny. Mutiny. Mutiny. Across India from Delhi to Calcutta, the native troops rise and revolt. European men, women and children die in India's holy war. The red pages of our history are filled with the names of cities where Englishmen, sick, wounded, starving, hopelessly outnumbered, somehow cling to the beleaguered garrisons. Delhi, Agra, Kornpur, Lucknow, two years of horror and death. Not until 1859 does the mutiny end. A few months later at Delhi, in the midst of a grandeur bar, glittering with all the pomp and splendor that is India's, Lord Canning reads the proclamation. India is declared a possession of the British crown and Her Majesty Queen Victoria, hereby grants amnesty to all who engaged in the mutiny save only those who murdered British subjects. God save the Queen. So begins modern India, where side by side with British dominions are the feudal states, owing allegiance to the crown, but ruled by native princes who live in the incredible luxury of the past. In 1896, a great drought ravages the country. Hundreds of thousands of peasants starved to death. Agitators blame British misrule. In 1914, the Great War sends thousands of natives beyond the seas. They return to raise afresh the cries against their British masters. In 1920, Mohamdes Karanchan Gandhi speaks to the people in the streets of the cities. People of Bombay, you have suffered too long under the injustice of British domination. It is time for India to be free. To protest to the British Raj is to accomplish nothing. So we must begin a campaign of non-resistance that will force the tyrannous English to set India free. That is what to do. All government service must be boycotted. If any of you hold public office, surrender it. Withdraw your children from the British schools. Seize to use articles of British manufacture. Take up your discarded spinning wheels. Make Indian cloth for Indian people. If you do this one year from today India will be free. The unlettered people believe Gandhi to be a saint. Give him the title of Mahatma. Great soul. But as he postpones the date of India's liberation again and again his fiery Mohammedan followers begin to leave him. In 1922 he is arrested. You are charged with conspiring to spread disaffection among the people with a view to overthrowing the government. How do you plead? I am guilty. I accept full responsibility for any acts the people have committed. You are sentenced to six years in jail. Released after serving less than two years Mahatma Gandhi finds his power has waned. He takes up the cause of the untouchables lowest of all the countless castes in India. Affronted by this challenge of their ancient law Hindus forsake him. With his power to sway the masses goes his influence. Only a few faithful followers still believe him to be the saviour of India. Today native princes unite with British statesmen and diplomats seeking to find the government for India that will reconcile the age-old antagonisms of race and creed dividing the crowding masses of her people. Let us catch our last glimpse of India from the harbor of Calicut little known city at the southern tip of the continent fragrant with the scent of cinnamon, cloves and ginger. From here in 1631 went the first shipment of that cotton cloth named for the city, Calico. In the throng streets of Hindu turbans and the saffron robes of Buddhist monks mingle as always with the sketchy garments of pearlfishers whose tatters may conceal a gem worthy of a rajah's crown. The whistle blows and we're homeward bound once more from another journey to ports of Calicut. We invite you to join us again next week in this time as we journey to another of the world's fascinating ports of Calicut.