Set in the early 20th century in both colonial India and London, The Outcaste follows Ananda, a high-caste Hindu from the State of Chirakul, whose life is changed when he experiences a crisis of faith and converts to Christianity. Here is how the novel introducs Ananda and his friends: 

Among their acquaintances the three Hindus were spoken of as A, B, and C; or as Ananda, Bopaul, and Coomara. In addition to these names they possessed others unfamiliar to the English ear and difficult of pronunciation. The men were of good birth and high caste; they belonged to a native State south of Poona, called Chirakul, the chief town being Chirapore. Under pressure of modern times the parents—people of substance and wealth—had sent their sons to Poona and Bombay to be educated. Later on, arrangements were made for a visit to England. It was due to the friendly offices of Wenaston that they entered the house of Dr. Twyford, professor of oriental languages. Their future was assured without the necessity of taking up any of the professions. It was the intention of their parents to make homes for them under the ancestral roof, where they would lead the life of the leisured Hindu landowner. If any occupation were adopted it would be of a political nature—some appointment of importance and trust under the Maharajah’s Government.

The story begins at an aviation field in London, where Ananda, his friends Bopaul and Coomara, and the English siblings Dr. Wenaston and Eola, witness a fatal aeroplane crash. This event triggers a profound theological debate between the Eastern and Western characters regarding fate and the afterlife.

“You do not believe that it is the direct act of God?”

Wenaston did not reply. They were threading their way through the crowd that had gathered near the exit of the field, and conversation was not easy. On all sides they heard comments upon the accident. Regrets were expressed freely that the new cult had lost one of its cleverest pioneers. His death—by this time it was known that the fallen aviator had breathed his last even as they carried him from the field—his death was sad from every point of view. He was a good, a thoroughly good fellow; clever beyond most men. Married? no; but there was a girl—he was living at home with his people, and he was going to be married shortly. Money? Oh yes, plenty, or he could not have experimented as he did. And the cause of the accident? Ignorance of air currents and the power of the wind. His wings were broken, and there was no hope from the very first of salvation. Although he struggled with the machine he must have been aware that he had no chance of escape. The next thing to invent must be some life-saving apparatus.

While the English characters view the accident through the lens of scientific progress and divine mercy, the Hindus struggle with the concept of transmigration, fearing that sudden death while in "sin"—such as breaking caste by traveling to England—will result in a cycle of inferior rebirths as animals or "untouchables". Here is a little more of the theological debate: 

Ananda stood by the motor whilst Wenaston went to do his sister’s bidding.“You take these things too seriously, Miss Wenaston. If you were a fatalist you would believe that it was pre-ordained by the gods; and you would be resigned. It is of no use to fight against fate. He had to meet it whether he flew upon an aeroplane or whether he remained in his own house. We are taught that we cannot escape the fulfilment of our destiny.”

She looked at him, her attention suddenly rivetted.“You are taught, you say; but do you believe your teacher in these days of greater enlightenment?”

A reply was not immediately forthcoming. Perhaps he would have left the question unanswered if she had not uttered an interrogatory, “Well?” in a tone that held something more than mere curiosity.“I am trying to retain my belief in all that my guru instilled into my mind before I left India.”

“You find it hard to keep the old faith unshaken?”

“Not exactly. The difficulty is to graft the new teaching on the old. We of the advanced school cannot stand still; we must progress.”

“And then comes the difficulty of putting new wine into old bottles.”

The philosophical crisis deepens when Coomara is killed in a railway accident shortly thereafter. Ananda, a sensitive and speculative man, is haunted by the belief that his friend is now suffering a degraded existence because he died before he could perform the purificatory rites to restore his caste.

To Ananda the affair was a great shock. His nervous system was completely upset. The memory of the scene recurred again and again during the day and the night, depriving him of sleep and rest. It was not only the loss of his friend and companion in exile that grieved him, but the appalling thought that the dead man had been thrust into a cycle of rebirths and existences wherein pain, sordidness and unspeakable degradation would be his lot; where beauty, joy and comfort would find no part. At that very moment the troubled spirit might be entering upon its new life with groans and sighs in squalid environment. He recalled Coomara’s careful observance of everything that related to his religion; his dislike of all that was not strictly orthodox; his unwillingness even to listen to heretical teaching. No man could be more innocent of intention in transgressing caste rule than Coomara. With his sensitive temperament, his pride of birth and caste, none could feel his punishment in a greater degree. Day and night Ananda brooded and sorrowed, uncomforted by the oft-repeated assurance of Bopaul that it was the inevitable decree of fate; and that what was written on a man’s forehead by the gods could not be averted.

Desperate for a more hopeful vision of the future, Ananda is moved by the resignation and peace of the dead aviator’s family, who believe their loved one is safe with God. Without informing his guardian, Professor Twyford, or his family, Ananda converts to Christianity and is baptized.

“How did it come about, then?”

“A curious thing happened. One of the English students living in the house introduced me to the mother and sister of the aviator who was killed that day. In my grief and trouble over Coomara’s fate I had almost forgotten the accident. I spoke to them about it, and told them of my own sorrow. They were goodness itself. To my astonishment I saw that they were bearing their grief with a resignation that put me to shame. It was their belief—their unshaken faith in the future that gave them strength. They were so sure, so certain that their beloved one was safe with God and happier than he could ever be on earth. I marvelled at their peace of mind, and asked myself why I should not share it. Sorrow had made them very tender towards the trouble of others. In short, it was through them that I changed my religion. They introduced me to their vicar. Unknown to the Professor, I put myself under instruction, and three weeks ago I was baptized.”

Upon returning to India, the tension between Ananda's new faith and his ancestral heritage reaches a breaking point. His father, Pantulu Iyer, a wealthy and proud silk merchant, has spent months preparing a lavish homecoming. When Ananda reveals his conversion at a hotel in Bombay, the reaction is one of absolute horror.

“You have—adopted—the religion of—England, my son! I fail to grasp your meaning!”

“I have become a Christian.”Ananda spoke clearly, but with a doggedness that seemed a little forced. Under his calmness lurked timidity. Bopaul detected it and again his lips quivered, this time with the ghost of a scornful smile. It required a magnificent courage and enormous endurance for a caste man to make such a change. If he knew Ananda aright his friend had no great store of either courage or endurance. His Christianity would soon be knocked out of him when the family had him back again in the old home away from foreign influences, unless he, Bopaul, was very much mistaken.

Pantulu dropped his feet to the ground, raised himself by the arms of the lounge on which he was seated, and rose without haste to his full height. The folds of his soft white muslin cloth fell over his lower limbs, the flowing drapery giving him an oriental dignity that was patriarchal. He wore a dark-blue serge coat, a white shirt and linen collar, with tie to match the coat. Everything was of the best quality and fitted his aristocratic well-made figure without fault. On the little finger of his right hand shone a diamond of rare beauty, his only ornament. The sparkle of the gem caught Ananda’s eye as the hand was slightly raised in growing horror.

“A Christian! a Christian!” he repeated. 

Pantulu, feeling cursed and fearing for the repose of his own soul and that of his ancestors—who require a son to perform shraddah ceremonies—curses Ananda and strikes him in a fit of rage.

Ananda is returned to Chirapore, but not as a son; he is treated as a prisoner and an outcaste. He is confined to a filthy outhouse and intentionally humiliated by being served food by a pariah (untouchable) sweeper, a touch that high-caste Hindus consider unspeakably polluting.

“It is some time since I had anything to drink. I am thirsty. Let the waterman bring me a pot of water and a cup.”A few minutes later the sweeper returned bearing an earthen pot of water and a tin mug. He approached the door with manifest reluctance, well aware of the gross insult he was offering. His touch was pollution, unspeakable pollution. Sooner would a caste man allow his drinking vessel to come into contact with a plague-stricken corpse than have it touched by a pariah.

“My lord! this is not my doing. With heavy blows has this slave been driven here—”

He was not permitted to finish the apology. Furiously angry, Ananda yielded to the instinct implanted by generations of caste ancestors. He rushed at him, knocked the earthen vessel out of his hands and with a blow sent him backwards into the foliage of the gourd. The pot broke and the mug rolled aside.

“How dare a loathsome pariah like this son of a jackal offer me such an insult! Go! get out of my sight! Don’t let me see your face again.”

Despite his hunger and isolation, Ananda’s character begins to strengthen. He initially revolts against the pariah’s touch but gradually begins to understand the Christian doctrine of the brotherhood of man, eventually accepting the sweeper as his only friend and protector.

The family’s persecution is exacerbated by the intervention of Ananda’s uncle, Sooba, who seeks to displace Ananda as the family heir. When Ananda’s young son, Royan, dies from a fall that the family blames on Ananda’s "evil eye," the hostility turns violent. Under the orders of a severe guru (religious teacher), Sooba and several men severely beat Ananda with a bamboo stick to force him to recant his faith. Ananda refuses, showing a newfound courage that surprises his friend Bopaul.

During this period, the English characters play a pivotal role. Bernard Alderbury, a vigorous missionary and friend of Wenaston, arrives to offer Ananda a position at his mission. However, Wenaston, bound by a covenant with the Maharajah not to proselytize, is forced to remain neutral, even after the college students strike in protest of Ananda’s presence. The most practical help comes from Mrs. Hulver, Wenaston’s shrewd and compassionate housekeeper. After the beating, the pariah sweeper carries a semi-conscious Ananda to Mrs. Hulver’s room. In a clever ruse, she disguises Ananda as her own "sick son," a British soldier named William, dressing him in an old uniform to hide him from Sooba during a house search.

While Ananda is being nursed back to health in secret, Sooba finds Ananda's cap near a deep well and convinces the family that the young man has committed suicide. This allows Sooba to exert his final revenge: he subjects Ananda’s wife, Dorama, to the rites of Hindu widowhood.

No need for Dorama to ask what those ceremonies were. They did not concern the body of the dead man but her own person. She shuddered as she crouched before the curry stone on which she was working in the preparation of green chutney, the task assigned to her regularly by her aunt.

“When shall we perform them?” asked Sooba’s wife, her eyes resting upon the beautiful gold boss that adorned Dorama’s glossy hair. “It is usual to wait ten days from the date of the death.”“

This is not a common case. To us and to his parents Ananda has been as good as dead ever since he landed. There can be no funeral rites even when his body is found. He has died an outcaste, defiled and unpurified, and as such he must be buried—not burned—at night with shame and dishonour and with no ceremonies. My brother must not return till we have disposed of the dead man and completed the ceremonies of widowhood. They shall take place three days hence which will give us time to call together the friends of the family. You will also have time to prepare for their entertainment. My brother will wish it done well and no expense spared.”

In a tragic ceremony, her beautiful jewels are stripped, her hair is shaved, and her marriage cord is severed. Dorama is plunged into a living death, becoming a drudge avoided by all.

However, Dorama’s despair is short-lived. She discovers that her husband's trunks are empty, realizing he must have escaped. Her resolve is further bolstered by Mayita, Bopaul’s widowed sister, who secretly brings her news that Ananda is alive. Bopaul, who maintains a complex position as an orthodox Hindu with modern, tolerant views, coordinates with Mrs. Hulver to facilitate a final escape. He leads Dorama away from the house under the guise of taking his sister for a walk, eventually delivering her to Alderbury’s motor car.

The narrative concludes with several resolutions. Alderbury and Eola Wenaston become engaged after Alderbury is nominated for a colonial bishopric, fulfilling Mrs. Hulver’s humorous prophecy that he was fit for the role despite his "missionary legs". At the mission station, Ananda and Dorama are reunited. Though Dorama is physically marked by the widowhood rites, Ananda accepts her with love, promising that her hair will grow back and they will start a new life in British territory where their rights are protected.

“My wife! my pearl! my beloved! How did you manage to escape? how did you get here? But what have they done to you my beautiful lotus? They have cut off your hair! and this cloth! what does it mean?”

The words poured from his lips with a string of eager questions which Dorama could only answer with sobs.

“Who do you say this woman is?” demanded Aldcrbury in some bewilderment.

“She is Dorama, my wife, sir! And see what they have done to her, poor child! Not content with nearly beating the life out of me they have widowed her! the brutes! This is my uncle’s doing. I will be even with him. He shall answer for it with his life! I will kill him as he would have killed me; and I will widow his—”

“Gently, Ananda! The Hindu in you dies hard. You do well to be angry, but don’t mistake anger for revenge.”
The hand that was laid upon his shoulder held in check the tempestuous wrath.

The ending also hints at a softening of the family conflict. Ananda’s mother, Gunga, who had arranged for her husband Pantulu to take a second wife to produce a new heir, finds her maternal instinct stronger than her religious prejudice. Upon learning that Ananda is alive and safe with the missionary, she declares that no power can deprive a woman of her rights of motherhood and expresses a desire to visit him. The story ends on a note of transition, as the characters move away from the rigid, mechanism-like retribution of their old lives toward a future defined by personal choice and the "spirituality of Christ".

The ending also hints at a softening of the family conflict. Ananda’s mother, Gunga, who had arranged for her husband Pantulu to take a second wife to produce a new heir, finds her maternal instinct stronger than her religious prejudice.

Upon learning that Ananda is alive and safe with the missionary, she declares that no power can deprive a woman of her rights of motherhood and expresses a desire to visit him. The story ends on a note of transition, as the characters move away from the rigid, mechanism-like retribution of their old lives toward a future defined by personal choice and the "spirituality of Christ".