Chittagong Summer of 1930

by Manoshi Bhattacharya

  ‘The high court was at first on the verge of rejecting the appeal but Ambika-da succeeded in coming through.’ Lokenath was jubilant. ‘As soon as I got his telegram, I rushed to Srigyan Babu’s house to have the aadesh-nama prepared.’

  ‘Then we ran with it to jailor babu’s house but his manservant told us he was enjoying his afternoon siesta and could not be disturbed before four,’ laughed Naresh. ‘We started hollering and banging on the door and jailor babu came out looking ready for human flesh. But the look on Lokenath’s face made better sense prevail.’

  They were running through a short cut across the fields. Ananta’s house lay half a mile from the jail. The door was wide open. The news had reached before he had.

  Ma was in the drawing room, her round face beaming. She turned to Boudi who quickly lit the little silver lamp set on the edge of a thala filled with flowers and more abeer. The flame gave off wisps of fragrance, as the wick sucked up the ghee. Ma held the thala to his forehead and moved it slowly in a circular motion to his chest and round again before dotting his forehead with abeer. Baba reached up to place a hand on his head. The boys had thrown themselves on the chairs unmindful of the coloured powder that fell off their bodies and worked its way indelibly into the fabric of the cushions. Nobody minded. The Holi Purnima had turned out an auspicious one. There was a boisterous gaiety in the house. There was no need to force sweets on this eager, ever hungry bunch and yet Didi and Dada were not about to lose their opportunity.

  Ananta excused himself. He needed to wash the colour off and have a proper bath, one denied to him for nearly a week. Boudi was still pulling out a set of fresh clothes and a towel for him when Tegra stuck his head out of the living room and gave a full-throated cry. ‘Ananta-da, there is someone here for you!’

  Grumbling loudly for he had just been on the verge of stepping into the bathroom, Ananta went out again. A boy waited at the gate with his bicycle.

  ‘Ki rey? … What is it that you want? Who are you?’ He barked. He had never seen the boy before.

  The youngster started stammering. ‘Shankar … aaggey …,’ he stuttered his eyes flickering nervously at the crowd that milled around him. Ananta shrugged and jerked his head.

  ‘Explosion,’ whispered the boy as others moved away. ‘Ram Krishna-da has been burnt.’

  Ananta’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. It could not have been more bizarre. This was surely a set-up designed to put him back in jail.

  ‘We were making percussion caps at Patharghata,’ the boy panted.

  Doubts began niggling at the back of the mind. Why had this Shankar not gone to Ganesh in the first place? How had he come to know that he had been released? He stared hard at the boy. His pistol had been lying in Didi’s care these past seven days. Dashing into the house to retrieve it he whispered to Naresh. ‘Follow us. Bring Bidhu along and bring your weapons. This may be a set-up.’

  Pulling out the Baby Austin, Ananta turned to Shankar. ‘Drop the cycle and get in.’ Picking up Ganesh from his house, he explained the situation quickly. Ganesh’s eyes were bright with suspicion. The circumstances of the Mechhua Bazaar arrests the previous December1 had been similar. A plan was formulated on the way. Ananta would drive slowly enough to give Naresh and Bidhu time to reach. Neither he nor Ganesh would leave the car. Shankar would get off and go into the house. Once he was out of sight, the four of them would take up positions. In case it was a trap, they would disappear silently. Ganesh’s Anushilan friend, Niranjan Sengupta, and Satish Pakrashi had been arrested at the Mechhua Bazaar hideout in Dhaka and the police had lain in wait inside the house. One by one as the team visited, they had all been picked up. The Chittagong group had had a narrow escape, for Ganesh had given Niranjan Subodh Choudhury’s address in the Rail Class Quarters at Chattogram for any secret communication that needed to be sent. Subodh’s house had been raided as a result, but fortunately, the police had found no incriminating material. It had been a wake-up call. The British were capable of crippling the revolution even before it could get the chance to take off.

  It was three in the afternoon. Shankar was waving from the house. Ananta waved back. The boy helped Ram Krishna into the back of the car. Ananta and Naresh moved cautiously towards the car. Ram Krishna was a sight! Nearly half his body had been burnt. This was a calamity.

  ‘We cannot even cover him with cloth … it will be too agonizing,’ whispered Naresh. ‘These are dangerous burns,’ Bidhu poked his head in. ‘Naresh, I think we need to call in a senior doctor.’ The two young doctors had recently acquired their qualifications. Bidhu was a gold medallist but they had grasped the gravity of the situation in an instant.

  ‘You boys go along with Ananta,’ said Ganesh. ‘I will inform Master-da.’

  The Baby Austin was driven carefully. This was an unforeseen event. They should have had a shelter ready where disasters could be managed. The car stopped outside a house and Bidhu ran in. He was back within minutes. ‘No,’ he said. ‘They sympathize all right but will not help with a burns case.’

  Several homes turned them down, but in the end one person was willing to accommodate Ram Krishna for two days. Two days and no more!

  Ananta returned to Ganesh’s shop. Master-da was there. ‘This is very unfortunate,’ he said. ‘The police will get to know. Ram Krishna’s brother-in-law is an upcoming government officer and he will let nothing come in the way of his promotion. He will report. I do not want any of you first-rank leaders involved in his care. Send for Phutu. Let him take the responsibility.’

  Tarakeshwar had been busy with his BSc finals and had kept a low profile. He had not involved himself with the clubs or the Volunteer Vahini. Out of police notice, he was the perfect choice. He swung into action. A house was taken on rent and Ram Krishna was moved out. Ganesh went to meet his family doctor, Dr Jagada Ranjan Biswas, who listened to the story and said, ‘All I know is that the boy was frying luchis when the vessel toppled off the fire splashing him with hot oil.’

  That night a worker in a tikka gharry took the doctor along the lane that ran north from the main road at the bottom of Collector’s Hill. Ram Krishna had been brought into a little house on that lane. After the doctor left, Ram Krishna was moved back to his shelter.

  Ten days had passed since the accident when Jagada Babu’s manservant knocked at Ganesh’s door. It was a little before dawn. ‘Babu, the police had come to doctor babu’s house last evening.’

  As the man spoke, Ananta, who had spent the night at the shop, dashed out to the Baby Austin. Ganesh and he would have to verify the story. Doctor babu confirmed the events. He had stuck to his story. ‘But,’ he added, ‘the house where I examined the patient, I have had to tell them about it.’

  It was already 6 a.m. and the sun was piercingly bright in the sky. The actual shelter lay on the slopes near the south-eastern corner of Askar Khan Dighi, barely 500 metres from the Congress office. Twelve hours had passed since the police had received the news. Could they now be lying in wait inside? Collecting Naresh and Bidhu on the way, they stopped a little distance from the shelter. Ganesh and Bidhu slipped out, their revolvers ready, and disappeared amongst the trees. Ananta and Naresh watched from the car. There appeared to be no signs of activity. Naresh left, revolver tucked behind his back. He went in and was soon leading Ram Krishna out. It was broad daylight. Ram Krishna’s body had swollen up. He was practically unrecognizable. The burnt skin had begun to peel revealing raw flesh covered with pus … or was it a white ointment? The boy was leaning heavily on Naresh, breathing with difficulty. If the police can manage to lay their hands on him now, he will not have the strength to resist, thought Ananta to himself.

  ‘Keep driving for the next three hours. Avoid places where you may have to stop. I will have news for you at Nouko Ghat by that time,’ said Ganesh.

  Making Ram Krishna lie down in the back seat, Ananta drove off. That frightful sight was sure to attract attention on the roads, but in case they were caught, it would be just the two of them.
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  Ananta kept to the sparsely populated streets and speeded up every time he had to cross people. Sunlight streamed over the top of the half-doors onto Ram Krishna’s body. Though he had taken care to draw the hood up, he could feel the burning rays as he rested his hand on the rubber bulb of the horn. The boy lay quietly and mumbled dreamily at times. Ananta’s eye strayed to his watch. When would the three hours get over?

  As he passed Nouko Ghat where the boatmen await customers, he recognized a familiar face. As the car slowed down, the youth came purposefully forward. Without a word, he opened the door. It was broad daylight but it did not appear to worry the youth. Slinging Ram Krishna across his shoulder he set off down the steps of the ghat. As Ananta drove off he could see a boat pulling out across the Karnaphuli, a figure shrouded in a sheet laid out as if the dead were being ferried. The youth had arranged for a bright garland that was draped over and visible for miles.

  ‘First-rankers in the police eye must go into hiding.’ Master-da had called for a secret late-night meeting at the Municipal School. ‘The rest must remain at home but must not be in possession of any incriminating material.’

  ANANDA PRASAD GUPTA

  On 26 March, a case was registered on Ram Krishna’s name under the Explosive Substances Act. Sub-inspector Abdul Azim hunted for him at Saroatali, at the house of his brother-in-law and in the house near Collector’s Hill. A few homes were raided at random. Nothing out of the ordinary was unearthed.

  Ananda had never witnessed a raid before. But what startled him was the impact it had on the elders. They were suddenly reduced to abject cringing fear. It had let loose the floodgates of terror. Spectres, the khaki-clad apparitions, sprang out of their childhood nightmares and invaded their privacy, the security of their homes. They barged into bedrooms and kitchens with no thought for the women present, new mothers that suckled babes or the children that screamed in horror.

  He was getting ready to spend the afternoon at the Sadarghat Club. There were driving classes to be attended in the evening. He would meet up with Himangshu and Moti later. Ma seemed to be spending more and more time by the window. Chotkun was growing up. He was less clingy these days. Ananda found him on the lane outside. The child was playing by himself.

  ‘There’s no telling as to when you will invite calamity upon our heads,’ he had heard Ma say to Dada earlier that day.

  ‘Achchha, tell me then do you not consider it an honour to be generous with one’s life, to donate it to the cause of the nation?’ Dada had countered.

  There had been no reply. But Ananda knew that deep in her heart, like every parent, she believed in the cause and yet secretly hoped that the revolution, when it came with all its ills, would bypass her family.

  SIR CHARLES TEGART

  ‘November last year we had instructed Chittagong to keep a special watch on Surjya Sen, Ambika Chakraborty, Nirmal Sen, Charu Bikash Dutt, Ganesh Ghosh and Ananta Lal Singh. Accordingly, on 16 November they inducted twenty-four constables to act as watchers. A twenty-four hour watch was instituted: four constables to a suspect by day and two by night. In February, they had revised the system. Two constables were deputed per suspect and the remainder were posted at specified locations around town. Since 12 February, Johnson’s men have been expressly instructed to cooperate with the DIB staff.

  ‘The result of my visit is that Johnson has now taken over direct and complete charge of the DIB, which until now had been under the supervision of a deputy superintendent. Immediate steps have been taken to intensify the system and Lewis, the ASP, has been placed in charge of the revised watch arrangements. Daily written reports are to be submitted by the watchers and the DIB inspectors and subinspectors are to move around town keeping an eye on them.’

  Colson had returned having spent the 24–26 March 1930 in the company of Johnson, the superintendent of police of Chittagong.2 Colson, Lowman and Mills, of the Special Branch, sat around the commissioner’s table. Sir Charles had returned from home leave. While he had been away, suspicious activities had been reported in that remote East Bengal area.

  ‘A very close watch will have to be maintained,’ said Sir Charles. ‘We have been caught unawares before. The outbreaks of 1908 and 1915 … we were without any supplementary powers to deal with the revolutionists or the press.’

  ‘Johnson will institute a revised system, 2 April onwards. The message has been sent out to all districts.’

  The officers turned their attention to the other disturbed district – Barisal.

  Those in the room were all acutely aware that the Bengal Criminal Law Amendment Act of 1925 was due to expire on 1 April that year. For the last three years, no use had been made of the special powers and the government had taken a decision that the powers of detention should be allowed to lapse. As a result the officers had begun touring extensively, keeping close contact with various districts. District offices were being encouraged to maintain close links with Calcutta.

  Lord Lytton came briefly to mind. Sir Charles recalled the letter of support he had received soon after his appointment as commissioner. It had seemed standard enough at the time. But true to his word, when trouble came, that ardent supporter of Home Rule took on the unenviable task of introducing the BCLA Act.

  Since his appointment as police commissioner, he had succeeded in pushing the ordinary crime rate down drastically but the number of terrorist crimes had continued to rise and he had once again joined the ranks of the marked men. On 12 January 1924, a youth named Gopi Nath Saha who was gunning for him had killed Earnest Day, a Calcutta businessman. The following March, a youth had been brought to Calcutta, suffering from serious burn injuries. His colleagues had attempted to keep him hidden and had brought him to Calcutta only when his condition turned serious. His story that he had been making fireworks had not gone down well and he had been prosecuted under the Explosive Substances Act. Within the same month, a raid on a certain house had disgorged a Mauser pistol, a revolver and a large cache of ammunition. In April, a European, driving down a busy road, had been shot at. The matter had been reported. Bruce, Sir Charles recalled, was not unlike him in appearance. The car had been taken back to the scene of the crime and placed in the same position as it had been when the shooting had taken place. Mill’s examination had proved that the bullet had entered the windscreen at an angle and he had inserted a bullet of similar calibre into the hole and with a long rod taken direction from it. The result had been significant. Whereas all the surrounding buildings were occupied by Marwaris, the rod pointed to a set of rooms whose inhabitant turned out to be a young Bengali on rent. The youth had been spotted earlier, loitering on Kyd Street.

  There had been other attempts, but his army of agents had been on top of their game. At a Hindu bathing festival, his point of entry had been changed at the very last moment, bewildering the assassins lying in wait with bombs. The conspirators at the Santahar railway junction, through which he was due to pass, divining that the police had got wind of their intended action, had fled. But the secret societies never stopped looking for opportunities. A communal riot in June that year had arisen from a bizarre rumour that the Sikhs working at the construction site at the docks were kidnapping Muslim boys to sacrifice at the site. It was based on an ancient superstition that sacrifices like these helped the building stand for years. The suddenness and the scale on which the rioting began had taken them all by surprise. He had lost no time and had been out there every day, directing the operations. He had to be visible so that the common man could take heart. Eight Sikhs had been killed; many policemen and common people injured. He had not escaped the blows himself. But while he had been thus occupied, there had been armed youths moving about the city, taking position in places he was most likely to appear. But the would-be killers had failed to identify him and the riots had been brought under control without further incident.

  To him it had become clear that, as foretold by the Rowlatt Committee, if the police were to control the revolutionary movement, the ra
mifications of which were extending every day, they would need special powers similar to those contained in the Defence of India Act. The Rowlatt Committee had, for the first time, based their recommendations on police inputs and had taken cognizance of the challenges they faced. But it had come under severe criticism by the Indians who viewed it as a conspiracy between the judiciary and the police. In the generous mood that followed the success of the Great World War, the Rowlatt Act – The Anarchical and Revolutionary Crimes Act – had been repealed3 even before it had come into force.

  Accordingly, Lord Lytton had gone to Simla in July 1924 to persuade the government to grant the powers. The governor’s vivid presentation and his staunch refusal to accept anything less resulted in the government agreeing to grant the powers, provided they were submitted in bill form to the Bengal Legislative Council and passed in the ordinary way. It had been a setback, for it meant that the various societies would have enough time to despatch their ringleaders out of the province and destroy their incriminating documents. However, Sir Charles’s point of view had been appreciated and the request for a six-month period of secrecy had been granted in the form of an ordinance. This had made it possible to take action before the bill came to be presented to the Legislative Council. He had launched into the preparation immediately, maintaining absolute secrecy even within the forces. A body of 600 officers and men had been mobilized in Calcutta alone and only a few select officers informed about the nature of the operation the evening before. The rest had been kept under the impression that excise raids would be taking place any day; the action was slated for 1 October and teams were kept in readiness to swoop down upon suspects at exactly 4.30 in the morning. Mills, assisted by L.N. Bird, the deputy commissioner, had carried out the preliminary organization while the actual arrests had been put into effect by two officers of the Special Branch. Fifteen persons in Calcutta had been arrested that day, under Regulation III and another fifteen under the new ordinance. Of these, two had been members of the Legislative Council and of them one was Subhas Chandra Bose. Bengal had broken out in demonstrations at the so-called stifling of legitimate political agitation. But it had been C.R. Das who had been hit the hardest, for his chief lieutenant Subhas Bose had been summarily removed from his side. The Swaraj Party had lost no time in eulogizing Gopi Nath Saha, Khudiram Bose and Joteen Mookerjee, whom they dug out from the pages of history. But the net effect had been a marked slump in terrorist activities.