by A K Bhagwat
Tilak always loved to tell something new and instructive to young persons, and his grandson Shri G. V. Ketkar has given an account of this habit in Tilak’s memoirs. “Dada was very fond of instructing students, boys and girls. My mother gave me some information about a scientific subject and when I asked her how she got the information, she told me that Dada used to tell children a number of things.... In the course of the narration, he was so completely lost in the subject that he was never conscious of anything else around him.... My aunt therefore instructed us not to start any topic while Dada was taking his meals, because once he started the discourse, he did not eat well. That instruction, however, was not of much avail, for if we did not start the discussion, Dada of his own accord started speaking on some subject. . . and hardly paid any attention to what he ate.”
Letters from Prison
Though these and other such anecdotes give us some glimpses of Tilak’s mind, the letters which he wrote from Mandalay take us much nearer to his heart. Long terms of imprisonment-particularly when there are no companions - have different effects on different people. Some persons are almost devoured by the long-drawn punishment. The agonies of solitary confinement become unbearable to them. They want to run away from themselves and severance of their contact with the world almost leads to severing them from normality. A few, whose minds are resourceful, try to score a victory over the yawning solitude by finding certain objects of interest. Thus the insects, the bees, the mice, the sparrows and such other birds or animals become friends in prison. The prisoners take parental care of their nests, watch them during their breeding season, feed them with the affection of a mother and feel an evergrowing gratitude for their companionship. Jawaharlal Nehru’s autobiography gives a lovely picture of animals in prison. Books are of course a tremendous solace during prison life and the companionship of the master minds of the past as well as of present, is never more pleasant than when one is confined to a cell. Those whose minds are enriched with knowledge and whose lives are a treasure of experiences, find in the prison life an opportunity for giving expression to all that they feel worth communicating. It is no wonder that many great works have been written in prison and an essayist has therefore remarked that ‘mankind owes a debt of gratitude to the perverted genius who established the terrible institution of prison.’ An author who spent over six years in prison, compared himself to a silkworm that weaves a cocoon of words round himself. The books which are written have not, however, always a personal accent and a person in prison, above all, yearns for an expression of his feelings. Prisoners therefore who write only business letters outside, develop an unexpected personal note in their letters. The cruelty of the institution of prison lies in the situation that the prisoner cannot write in an intimate way when he most longs to do it. Letters are censored and therefore the prisoners have to develop the art of concealing feelings and emotions. In spite of all the restrictions, those imposed by one’s own self, words become pregnant with meaning, suggestion conveys the desired import, and the feelings deliberately suppressed form a melody that can be heard by sympathetic minds. Tilak was compelled to write letters in English. There was thus not much possibility of emotions creeping into these letters for two reasons, viz. Tilak’s inherent reticence and the unsuitability of the foreign language as a vehicle of one’s emotions. And yet the letters form a melody expressive of the intense sentiments of a philosophic mind. Tilak wrote these letters to his nephew (sister’s son) Dhondopant Vidwans. He was allowed to write one letter per month. N. C. Kelkar in his biography of Tilak has translated about sixty of these letters, which are not unfortunately available in the original. Tilak’s letters were written in a very restrained manner and not once does one find in them a mood of self-pity. He had quietly accepted the terrible punishment and his sentiments were expressed once and for all in those memorable words which he uttered in the High Court: “There are higher Powers that rule the destiny of things and it may be the will of Providence that the cause which I represent may prosper more by my suffering than by my remaining free.” He was of course aware of the fact that his wife and children could not be expected to bear the calamity with the same equanimity. He therefore always wrote in a very optimistic and reassuring manner. In the first letter he wrote: “Tell wife and children that I am not worried about myself. But I am very much anxious about them. My health is really all-right. I am not just writing this in order to comfort them. Even though my appeal is rejected by the Privy Council, tell them that I would not have to spend all six years here. I shall meet them sometime in the near future. Only hope can sustain a person in the midst of calamities. Therefore please take care to keep up that hope.”
The way in which Tilak wrote about his wife has an underlying note of pathos about it. The following are some of the references:
“The health of wife causes anxiety. Write to me about her. Give her the treatment of Vaidya pade for diabetes.”
“Give her our usual medicine ‘Saptarangi Kadha.’ Tincture does not appear to suit her. Consult Dr. Garde about it.”
“My friends naturally feel that I would be released when the present political tension would relax. I also think it desirable that this hope of my wife and children be sustained for long. But to tell you the truth I am convinced that I shall have to undergo my full term of imprisonment.”
“Explain the contents of my letter to wife and children. Ask them to have courage and to be cheerful. At present times are unfavourable to us. To accept this without complaint and to hope for better days is the only proper way.”
“I was pained to hear that wife’s health deteriorated in May and June. Diabetes is a terrible disease. But she must pass days with courage. There is no other way. The present circumstances are indeed trying; but they have to be accepted cheerfully.”
“Translate literally to wife all that I have written, write to me a detailed account of her health.... Diabetes is a disease which cannot be eradicated. But ask her to take medicine regularly.”
“There is possibility that wife would not be keeping well in summer. Ask her to go along with children to Sinhgad. She would not like to have the pleasure of cool climate. But her health is spoilt owing to the hot season, and therefore tell her that she should go to Sinhgad, for my sake. You should accompany her, or ask Gangadhar or some other trustworthy person to do it. I want her to go to Sinhgad, even though she goes there reluctantly just to obey me. The climate of Sinhgad is most suited to patients of diabetes.”
“You told me here (during the interview) that wife’s health was going down. Write to me about her.”
“It is a matter of satisfaction that her health has not deteriorated. The presence of the daughters would give her some comfort. Tell her that bad days are passing off and would soon be over.”
“Tell her that we are struggling against fate. We would either win or lose in this struggle. If we are determined not to lose we would win.”
“I was much relieved to read that wife could work at home.”
“Ask wife to take milk and ghee along with barley, as I do here.”
Below is the letter written after the most cruel blow of fate, which Tilak suffered during his imprisonment:
Central Jail, Mandalay
8th June 1912
My dear Dhondu,
Your wire was a very great and a heavy blow. I am used to take my misfortunes calmly; but I confess that the present shook me considerably. According to the beliefs ingrained in us it is not undesirable that the wife should die before her husband. What grieved me most is my enforced absence from her side at this critical time. But this was to be, I always feared it, and it has at last happened. But I am not going to trouble you further with my sad thoughts. One chapter of my life is closed and I am afraid it won’t be long before another will be.
Let her last rites be duly performed and her remains sent to Allahabad or Benaras or any other place she might have de
sired. Carry out literally all her last wishes, if you have not done so already. The task of looking after the physical and intellectual development of my sons falls on you now with greater responsibility; and I shall be still further grieved if I were to find it not properly attended to. I believe Mathu and Durgi are still there. They as well as Rambhau must have keenly felt the bereavement especially at a time when I am away. Console them in my name and see that Rambhau and Bapu do not get dejected. Let them remember that I was left an orphan when I was much younger than either of them. Misfortunes should brace us up for greater self-dependence. Both Rambhau and Bapu should therefore take a lesson from this bereavement and if they do that I am sure God will not forsake them. See that their time is not lost in useless grief. The inevitable must be faced boldly.
As regards her things and valuables make a list thereof, and keep them with you under lock and key till my release or till you next hear to the contrary from me, in the meanwhile. Above all face the situation-courageously yourself, for there is no one else on whom the children can depend in this critical state. ‘May God help you all’ is all that I can wish and pray for from this distant place. With love to children and yourself.
I am,
Yours affectionately,
Bal Gangadhar Tilak.
Satyabhamabai, A Devoted Hindu Wife
G. V. Ketkar, Tilak’s grandson, has given a brief account of the life of Satyabhamabai before her death: “My grandmother had little hope of Dada’s return after six years, and she often said that she would soon leave this world. She lived for four years after Dada was sent to Mandalay. During this period she never stepped out of the house. She wore a black sari and black bangles and except the holy string3 she wore no other ornament. She was always fasting and ate coarse food.... Her daughters read out Kesari to her but she was hardly attentive. My mother read the holy book Bhaktivijaya, to which she listened attentively. She generally avoided taking medicine, though she was suffering from diabetes.”
Satyabhamabai died in very painful circumstances. She had withstood many trials in life. She lost three or four of her children. Tilak had been in prison twice before and the third conviction must have come as a crushing blow. Like all Hindu women she did not care much for material comforts and though she must have been proud of Tilak’s greatness, she always kept herself in the background. She could not partake of Tilak’s glory, and had only to bear the agonies for his sufferings. Parting from Tilak during the last days must have broken her heart. She must have prayed for death to deliver her from her sorrow as she gave but little thought to her own self. Anxiety about Tilak’s health must have been a constant worry to her and as her grandson wrote, she did not hope for his return. How she must have prayed that death the deliverer would take her away before Tilak, for that is the prayer of all devoted Hindu wives! She could read and write but the idea of expressing her feelings in a letter could not even touch her orthodox mind. Hers was the course of silent suffering. Tilak was not even given an opportunity to say a few parting words to his wife and children. But even if a few minutes had been given to him, he and Satyabhamabai would only have exchanged glances, and through mute farewell, much that words can never express would have been communicated to each other. All moments of happiness and of grief would have been re-lived in those moments, and the consciousness of the grim present and still more grim future would have brought a lump to the throat. The deep anguish would compel them to tear away the gazes and Tilak with his usual calm would have said a few words to the children. But this also was not to be. Providence had torn them asunder and they were not allowed to meet on this earth. Tilak never spoke of his grief, but one gets some idea of the depth of his feeling from the following anecdote given by his nephew, Dhondopant Vidwans: “After Dada came back from Mandalay, a painter made a life-size oil painting of my aunt and brought it to us. I had a look at it and exclaimed What a fine painting!’ Dada immediately said, ‘But it is not perfect.’ At this I remarked, I think it perfectly resembles Mami.’ Dada smiled a little and in a moving tone said, ‘Do you know her better than I do?’ During Mami’s lifetime, Dada hardly spoke to her in our presence, and never in this strain. And when therefore I heard these touching words when Mami was no more, my eyes also were filled with tears.”
Tilak could pay little attention to the affairs of his family, but he was very particular about the all-round development of his children. His daughters were married but his two sons were quite young, when he was at Mandalay. He was naturally rather anxious about the proper training to be imparted to them and he always instructed Dhondopant about it. The following passages from his letter reveal the particular care he took of his children:
“See to it that the education of Rambhau and Bapu is not neglected. I see no reason why owing to my misfortune their education should suffer. Take care of them.”
“Where are the girls at present? How is the health of Rambhau and Bapu? How are their studies? Write to me whether they take exercise or not. Send them to the class of Tatyasahib Natu and teach them riding.... Ask them to be cheerful and to study well.... Ask Shri Kavade to teach English to Mathu and Rambhau at home.... How have Rambhau and Bapu progressed during the last six months? Tell them that they must be among the first ten boys of their class....”
“I was glad to read that Shri Kavade is not sparing himself and is taking pains for the studies of children. It does not matter if a little more time is spent, but what is learnt should be learnt well. Teach Mathu English upto the Matriculation standard.”
“...I looked into the progress books of Rambhau and Bapu. They are not very satisfactory. Give them the necessary instruments for gymnastics. Appoint an instructor for the purpose if necessary...”
“...Rambhau is an average student. How is it then that he did not pass the examination? Probably he does not concentrate on his studies.... I am sending along with this letter instructions to Rambhau and Bapu about the method of studying. Ask them to translate those instructions in Marathi, get the translation corrected by Kavadeshastri. They should then read them out to their mother so that she would know what exactly I expect of them.”
“...Make good arrangements for the college education of Bapu and Rambhau. Fergusson College is quite near to the city. Let them go and come back from the college on foot.”
In the letters there were always solicitous inquiries of Jagannath, the adopted son of Baba Maharaj, and also of the son of Bapat of the Baroda interlude. Tilak always wrote a detailed account of his health, and one gets an idea how he was trying to keep himself fit in his advancing age. In almost every letter, there is a list of books, which he wanted to be sent on to him. They included books on different religions, on sociology, philosophy, metaphysics and science. He also learnt French and German with the help of suitable books. He read Webber’s book on astronomy in German. In a letter of the 2nd September 1910, he wrote: “I read Webber’s work. It is written in German. I could read five pages per hour. I can describe what a delight it was to read it. I felt that at least a part of imprisonment was well spent.” Tilak also wrote about the progress of his writing of Gita-Rahasya, his magnum opus, in which he sought an answer to all the complex problems of life not from the standpoint of a schokr or a recluse but from that of one who had dedicated his whole life to the service of his fellow-countrymen.
In addition to the humble biographer Kulkarni, whose touching account of Tilak’s days in prison already been given before, there is also another account. This time the biographer is an illustrious son of India, whose name was going to be written in letters of gold in the annals of India’s fight for freedom. Subhash Chandra Bose was sent, towards the end of January 1925, to Mandalay as a guest of His Majesty’s Government. “Mandalay jail,” he says, “was a real place of pilgrimage, hallowed by the memories of one of India’s greatest men. That pilgrimage is one of the happiest episodes in my life.” Subhashbabu did not have the advantage of coming into personal cont
act with Tilak and yet, being a fellow-pilgrim to the shrine of freedom, he supplies by his imagination what he lacks in actual experience. His account, mostly confined to a description of the Mandalay jail with its climatic changes and bleak stone-walls, gives an idea of the tempestuous soul that turned the stone-walls into a rich heritage. This is what Subhashbabu writes:4