‘The British have a system of prevention of cruelty to animals,’ Ganesh-da continued, ‘but not even a cowrie is put aside for an Indian life. The stray dogs caught by the corporation are treated better than the natives who are killed as if they were locusts. Boot-shod feet claim lives. In the name of justice great injustice rules. Their justice is nothing but a farce, for their judges let off such offenders with nothing but a nominal fine. Will they ever permit these murderers to be tried by Indian judges?’ He looked meaningfully at Ananda. ‘The best example of this mindset is the way in which Poona’s plague commissioner – Rand sahib – behaved as the epidemic swept through the city. Rand ordered the most atrocious culling possible. People began to fear Rand and his men, more than the disease and the inevitable death. How many women have been molested in the process and how many mothers have needlessly lost their children? Think of the wives that were turned out of their homes even as they mourned their husbands. Those for whom the Plague Control Committee was put together, became its victims. Not a thought was spared for them. Rand sahib, the messenger of death, seated himself on Poona’s breast and tortured its people. It was not that the workers were culling the sick voluntarily, they were following government orders. It led to people being turned out of homes, properties being looted. All the while money was being siphoned off because the Ganeshkind Sarkari Bhavan was in the midst of celebrations – Queen Victoria’s diamond jubilee.’
‘Ever wonder what they did with the sick?’ Ananta-da asked. ‘I mean removing corpses and burning them is one thing, sealing homes and throwing out grieving families to brave the elements another … but just think … what did they do when they discovered a sick person or a sick child?’ Ananta-da leant back putting his weight on his arms. His face was upturned catching the light rain. His big burly presence inspired a sense of security. ‘The barbaric behaviour set the peoples’ blood on fire. Damodar Chapekar could take it no more. With his brothers Balkrishna and Vasudev, they set out at night and tarred the marble statue of Queen Victoria. But the three, otherwise tame Brahmins, who could boast of little education save the practice of Brahminical rituals, had not finished their work. Rand would be made to pay.’
Ananda sensed that the long-winded story was about to get somewhere.
‘On 22 June 1897,’ continued Ganesh-da, ‘fireworks lit up the night sky above the Sarkari Bhavan. Crowds gathered to witness the display. As the festivities ended, a carriage rolled out. Lt Ayerst and Rand sahib were returning home after a night of revelry and merrymaking. As it made its way down the leafy lane, Vasudev ran behind it crying ‘gondiya ala rey’. Balkrishna jumped on top of the man holding the reins and shot him. Realizing that it was the wrong man, Damodar entered the carriage and shot Rand. Damodar Chapekar was hanged for his crime and became the first martyr in British India.10 Balkrishna soon followed him to the gallows. These incidents called out to Savarkar and a dream was born.’
‘That dream is in our hands now,’ said Ananta-da quietly. ‘Whether it will fructify depends on us.’
Ananda clenched and unclenched his hands. He clasped his chest tucking his bony fingers within the warmth of his armpits.
LADY KATHLEEN TEGART, APRIL 1929
The guard of honour snapped to attention and the company commander saluted, as the governor’s car drove up Birch Hill, rolling to a stop before the Government House. It was a clear day, but a fine mist had wrapped itself around the Kanchenjunga. The pale sunrays picked out the Lebong Racecourse in the distance. The Tegarts and the Jacksons had taken out a few days to holiday at Darjeeling.
Julia drew Kathleen by the arm towards the flat green that lay between the main house and the ADC quarters. Like Kathleen, she was tall and broad-shouldered, very handsome, with a determined set to her jawline.
An exclamation of delight broke out from Kathleen’s lips. ‘And you worried they wouldn’t grow in the cold!’
Water lilies bloomed in the sunken water garden; Julia had designed it the previous year. Lady Jackson walked around its periphery, triumphantly counting the number of blooms and the buds that needed nurturing. ‘But come my dear,’ she said, ‘I simply must have a wash and a cup of tea.’
Garden chairs had been laid out in the terrace garden which had been Lady Lytton’s contribution to the Government House. As they settled down, the chief steward’s nod brought forth a stream of liveried bearers. Lt Julian Gascoigne, the governor’s ADC hovered shyly behind. Julia beckoned to him. She was a motherly sort, with a soft spot for youngsters, having married her only son off the previous year. He dropped into a chair, glad for the company and a cup of tea.
‘Now, Julian’s been curious about the old days,’ said Lady Jackson sipping her favourite China tea.
The Government House staff had laid on a virtual feast with the gleaming silver, the snowy tablecloth, piping hot crumpets dripping with butter, floury scones and those mysteriously flavoured sandwiches, the recipe of which Kathleen had never quite deciphered.
‘Calcutta has changed drastically since you arrived, hasn’t it?’
‘Well,’ said Kathleen, her fingers wavering between the Angel cake that melted in the mouth and the very special Government House gingerbread, settling eventually for the former, ‘Mike should really be the one to tell that story. Calcutta, being the second largest city in the empire, always prided itself on its modernity and cosmopolitan atmosphere. The bit of modernity that I first experienced was the tramways which had come with the start of the Edwardian era. It was used by the poorer sections of society and they of course also had bicycles. Cars had not come into general use and the upper classes still drove about in dog carts and carriages.’ Kathleen looked up to smile at Julian. ‘For young people like you, calling was an important rite and in Calcutta there were special peculiarities attached to it. With the exception of all but the most highly placed officials, on whom everyone of inferior rank called as a matter of duty, it was the newcomer’s business to call on the older and more established residents.’
‘Very sensible too,’ observed Julia. ‘It would certainly have made things easier for the newcomer and dispensed with the lengthy wait for recognition, as is known to happen all too often in the English country districts.’
‘When Mike moved from Patna to Calcutta as acting deputy commissioner in 1906, personal calls were still de rigueur. They were supposed to last for exactly ten minutes and the well-conducted caller was always accompanied by a top hat!’
Julian leaned forward, the cup of tea in his hands forgotten. ‘I hear they were wild,’ he said.
‘Well,’ Kathleen laughed. ‘They were a group of bachelors that shared a chummery … John Nixon being one of them.’ At this point they all began laughing, for John Nixon of the ICS was Sir John Nixon now and a well-respected figure.
‘They were wild!’ she continued, ‘theatre every Saturday night with the local theatre ready and waiting. Rarely would the night end without an exchange of missiles which ranged, I am told, from bowler hats to the box carpet. The actors on the stage faithfully flung the items back at the box and so the exchange would continue through the night. But Saturday was uneventful compared to other evenings spent at the chummery.’
‘I dare say,’ laughed Julia. ‘Practising revolver shooting by aiming at flying bats?’
‘Much to the alarm of the bearers and orderlies, mock fights were routine and minor injuries common. One young man had his ribs broken by a hog spear and Mike broke his ankle when bicycling downstairs, the night before he was to be best man to Frank Halliday!’
‘Frank Halliday, the commissioner?’ Julian’s eyes sparkled.
‘Deputy commissioner in those days; came from a hunting family with a passion for horses and became, as a result, Mike’s greatest friend. In fact they had both got their MVOs11 together after the TMs’ visit in 1911. Actually, Mike got his King’s Police Medal that year, and the next year, both of them got the MVO.’
‘The TMs visited twice, didn’t they?’ said Julia. ‘Firs
t as prince and princess of Wales and later as King George and Queen Mary. I’ve heard they were a runaway success.’
‘And it had been Frank and Mike at their service both the times. Before the first visit in 1905, there had been a suggestion of a general boycott in Calcutta but once they actually arrived, they received a tumultuous welcome. Lord Minto had had a successful talk with Gokhale.’
‘And the general masses back then were not infested with anti-British feeling,’ said Julia.
‘Calcutta was en fête for days: massed bands on the maidan, the best conjurers and musicians. They had been brought in from all over India. The most brilliant of them was said to be a forger who was serving a severe sentence at the time but had been temporarily released to entertain Their Royal Highnesses. Frank had been a part of the escort as the royal party had driven in state. When the TMs returned in 1911, to hold the Delhi Durbar, they stayed for a part of the time in Calcutta. The police commissioner had been occupied in riding escort and the responsibility for practical arrangements had fallen once again on Frank and Mike. David Petrie, then assistant to the deputy inspector general of the Punjab Criminal Investigation Department, had described the atmosphere of Bengal as supercharged and had warned that it was on the cards that anything might happen. Mike was in the CID at the time, and it was on him that the ultimate responsibility rested. Their Majesties were always considerate, very punctual and gave far less trouble than the others that had accompanied them. But despite the fact that terrorism had been on the rise, there had been no anti-British demonstrations. On the contrary, the crowds had nearly mobbed the royal carriage and had swarmed into the roadway to throw dust from the carriage wheels over their heads.’
‘The dust from the feet of royals absolves Indians of sins accumulated through the past lives and assures them of release from the cycle of life and death,’ explained Lady Jackson to Julian. ‘But, Kathleen, you digress. Tell us about the top-hatted callers.’
‘Yes,’ laughed Kathleen. ‘When duty dictated an afternoon calling, two or three young men would set out gaily in a tum-tum, which was a dog cart, wearing topees and frock coats, carrying a top hat between them and arrive at a house where the hostess was home. One young man would remove his topee, seize the top hat and vanish into the house where, for exactly ten minutes, he would make polite conversation. On his reappearance he would hand the top hat to the second caller who would go through exactly the same performance which would be repeated until all the callers had had their turns.’
‘Chummery tales!’ The men had come to join them.
‘Have you told them about the time Mike and his opponent decided to have it out?’ Sir Stanley laughed. ‘For someone whose beginnings lay in standing on a hassock – his head barely showing above the lectern – reading the lessons in a treble brogue, Mike could land a terrific punch. His opponent’s broken jaw had them both surprised. What was it that Headmaster Dickie Biggs said to you before you passed out of Portora Royal? First turn to the right and straight on … good advice, guaranteed to stick in a young boy’s memory.’ Sir Stanley sat down and reached for a cup. ‘Old days … the best part of one’s life.’
‘Good days, yes.’ Sir Charles agreed. ‘The caning, the master supervising the cold water showers making sure no one escaped … I remember a particularly memorable end-of-Christmas-term pillow fight which was interrupted by the fearsome bearded Dickie who strode into the dormitory, candle in one hand and cane in the other. After receiving the necessary application to the rear end, we spent the night shivering, locked up in the kitchen passage … And remember the endless service one had to dish out for one’s fag-master?’
‘Warming toilet seats during the winters!’ added Julian.
‘Lloyd George said to me, as Winston introduced us in the House of Commons dining room, “I have been looking all my life for the man who gave Winston Churchill a hiding at school.” Winston had been my fag at Harrow,’ chuckled Sir Stanley. ‘Ladies, we are off for a walk. I am sure Julian will take good care of you.’
The receding figures remained distinguishable as they made their way down the slope: the lean six-foot figure of the governor and the powerfully built police commissioner. The sun was low in the sky and rocks and grass shimmered in a golden glow. Blue harebells glistened, catching the last rays.
‘How is it that Mike came to choose the police service?’ asked Lady Julia softly.
‘It just happened to him,’ smiled Kathleen, realizing the import of the question. The police services had neither the glamour of the army nor the prestige that came with the ICS. ‘A notice that said two riding tests were compulsory caught his eye and that made him take the test. It was during his first year at Trinity, Dublin; Mike still had no vision of what he wanted from life. He had been orphaned early and, with his younger brother Edward, had spent his schooldays at Portora. That had taken care of the teenage years.’
Lady Julia raised her eyebrows. ‘Portora! Oscar Wilde?’ she looked questioningly at Julian.
‘And Henry Lyte, of ‘Abide with me’ fame,’ he said.
Kathleen nodded and continued, ‘As you know, he comes from a humble southern Irish background. His father was rector at Dunboyne, County Meath, but he died by the time Mike was twelve and his mother followed soon after. Mike was really his father’s companion and accompanied him everywhere – even to the meetings of the Royal Dublin Society. The rector would ride an old fashioned tricycle and Mike his own child’s tricycle. The journey, each way, was a whole twelve Irish miles and they would return the same day itself. They took to using trains only after Edward was old enough to join them.’
‘I can just imagine,’ said Julia, ‘plump little legs pedalling furiously along the country roads. It’s remarkable, such stamina at such a tender age.’
‘It was his father really, who tamed the lively young animal that resided in my husband and in my brother-in-law, both of whom had a natural dislike for sitting still. He was an erudite man; a fine classical scholar who introduced them to the excitement and variety in life. Sadly, he suffered from a fatal illness and awoke one Sunday morning to discover that his failing sight had completely gone.’
‘And that was when Mike took over his duties at the church!’
Kathleen smiled wistfully. ‘His father continued taking the usual services for he knew them by heart, but the lessons he delegated to Mike. But to come back to the story, he qualified in the entrance exam. It wasn’t a particularly stiff one, about the same level as the entrance to Sandhurst, but the competition was excessive. Only seventeen had been selected. Then came the difficult part, for he had no contacts in India, no hereditary link with the country and only the vaguest of ideas of what was expected of a policeman in India. But the fact that horsemanship was a requisite seemed to suggest an open and active life. He tells me that it had been the visions conjured by the Boy’s Own Paper that had made him join up even though he had been heartbroken at having to leave Trinity. The age restriction was strict – between nineteen and twenty-one only – he could not afford to take a chance and apply again. But it has been a good life, providing him with the necessary excitement. He often says to me: “I was made for the wild life. The frills of urbanization bore me.”’
‘The fine he has levied on Mr Gandhi for burning foreign cloth was a rich one,’ laughed Julian. ‘Treating the Mahatma like an errant schoolboy! They are sure to fight it all the way to the high court.’
Mr Gandhi had been on a whirlwind tour of the country and had been in Calcutta from 3 to 5 March during which time he had encouraged the masses to throw out all their fine foreign clothes and burn them on the streets. The rich and poor had come out alike pulling out the clothing articles they had treasured all their lives. Sir Charles had swooped down on Mr Gandhi, prosecuting him for creating a disturbance and imposed a token fine of one rupee. Mr Gandhi had continued with his tour schedule but was due to return again to Calcutta by the end of the month.
‘Mike’s sense of the absurd!’ laughed
Julia. ‘He can extract humour out of the strangest of situations.’
‘It quite vexes me most of the time,’ said Kathleen. ‘Have I told you about the time we were driving past the maidan when we spotted three atrociously drunk British soldiers troubling a few Bengalis out on a walk with their womenfolk? My husband charged out off the car like a wounded bull to chastise the offenders with his baton. Seeing them being herded towards our car, I stepped out in a hurry and got into the front seat beside Subah Khan. Sure enough, Mike bundled the lot into the back seat and kept guard over the, by now, corpse-like Tommies until we reached the hospital. I scolded him the rest of the way. After all, he should have simply driven to the nearest station and sent a sergeant to take care of the situation!’
A cold breeze had begun to play about their shoulders. Lady Julia patted Kathleen’s knee sympathetically and rose to move indoors. ‘I can well imagine. Being the wife of a police officer cannot be anything but trying.’
The bearers had a log fire going and it blazed away merrily bathing the room in a pleasant glow. Two more months to go before their sailing date, thought Kathleen. She couldn’t wait to get back home and to the driving holiday they took each year. They would be away from the tribulations of India until December.
SIR CHARLES TEGART
The two men strolled down the hill, walking sticks in hand. They had fallen into a serious conversation.
‘S.R. Das, the advocate general, had come to see me at home,’ said Sir Charles. ‘He wanted to discuss a draft resolution regarding the release of political prisoners in our custody in those days. Gandhi had proposed to bring it up at a public meeting in Calcutta. Das pointed out and commented on the fact that the resolution “prayed” and not “demanded” the release of the prisoners. I was against it. It would only result in the resumption of secret revolutionary propaganda if not immediate recrudescence of revolutionary activity. Das, I could see, was prepared to admit the force of this contention. He then said that he had been asked by Gandhi to see me and that Gandhi would like to see me himself. I replied that if Gandhi wished to see me, I was naturally quite prepared to see him but it would have to be distinctly understood that I would be seeing him in my personal capacity; that any views I expressed would be taken as an expression of my own opinion. It would not reflect either the government’s or that of the Intelligence Branch. The interview, I stipulated, would have to be strictly private. The next morning I received a letter from Das saying that Gandhi would meet me at 6.30 in the evening at the Das residence.’
Chittagong Summer of 1930 Page 5