As the boys took their leave, Pranhari Babu thrust a wad of notes into his hands. ‘You will need this. God be with you.’ Not one eye remained dry, as the household showered them with blessings. It made him wonder at the misgivings that had tortured him through the day.
They had reached the banks of the river. They were now two miles east of the Double Mooring jetty. ‘Those of you who will be safe at home, either your own or a friend’s or relative’s … here take some of the money.’ They would have to break up. A group moving about in the villages was bound to attract attention. Lokenath handed out the notes. ‘Move in twos or alone. Hand over the firearms … you are innocent … you don’t know anything.’
Debu, Rajat, Mona, Subodh Choudhury and Phonindra Nandi collected the muskets and revolvers.
‘Keep an ear out. Master-da will send word … come at once.’ Lokenath saw Pundit, Ranadhir, Sahayram and Saroj Guha off. He turned to Swadesh. ‘The police have no clue that you are involved with us … here …’ He held out some money.
‘I am not going back.’ Swadesh was firm. There would be no arguing.
‘Loka-da, lets go to my village home in Koyepara.’ Rajat turned to the Muslim guide. ‘Will you be able to help us cross?’
‘Bau, I will have to get my mama. If you let me go, I will fetch him within the hour. You hide in that boat.’
Could they trust him? Lokenath remained silent for a couple of minutes. ‘We will wait,’ he said.
FIFTEEN
ANANTA LAL SINGH, 24 APRIL
A crow sat high up, announcing the morning. A rosy blush filtered through dark branches. A wave of pain swept through Ananta’s cold and stiff body. As he tried to move, the blanket of earth that had covered him all night cracked and fell apart, sending a fine spray up his nostrils. He had dug himself in against the chill of the night. A fox had kept vigil, howling occasionally. He could sleep some more … a lot more. But the morning mist was clearing and he was by now in dire need of help.
A farmer leading a cow walked past him. A few minutes later, another went by. They were taking their cows to the pastures. In the distance, a pair of oxen, invigorated by the morning air, rounded the corner at a fast clip. The owner followed, a plough resting on his shoulders. The man went past, appearing not to have seen him. Ananta took a long look at his retreating back and decided to take his chance. He sprinted after him.
‘Brother, spare me a glance.’
The man pretended not to have heard.
‘Look at my condition. Look at the terrible state I am in.’
‘What happened?’ The voice was gruff. It was a response, even though the man had not bothered to look at him.
‘Look brother, I am a swadeshi. I fought with the police … shot a few of them.’ Ananta switched quickly to the local dialect.
The words did not affect the man’s pace. Ananta kept up.
Suddenly he barked, ‘Why? Why did you shoot the police?’
‘For our country. They have been terrorizing our people, killing innocents.’
There was no response.
‘Give me a minute. Please.’ Ananta pleaded. ‘I will tell you everything.’
It made no difference. The oxen walked on steadily and the owner followed. Only a slight nod of the head indicated that Ananta should follow.
They had reached the fields. Motioning him to a side, the man busied himself. Ananta squatted, watching the man till his fields without a care in the world. A bugle sounded.
‘Bilonia. Troops of the maharaja of Tripura.’
The information startled Ananta. Troops sent by the maharaja of Tripura? He pleaded with the farmer, the distress in his voice now evident. ‘Bhai, take me home. Please. Before they see me.’
The man seemed unperturbed. He waved him aside and continued with his work. Ananta went back to his place and sat down. But now he had begun to feel physically ill. His gut had worked itself into knots and he would have thrown up had the arrival of another young man not distracted him. The farmer handed the plough over and motioned to Ananta. They kept up a quick pace and were soon at the man’s hut. Wordlessly, he handed Ananta a clean shirt and a dhuti and pointed to an empty room.
He lay quietly on the floor for hours. At last an elderly woman opened the door, pushed a plate of dry flat rice and jaggery and a pot of water before him and waited till he began to eat. This was the fare of the simple Bengali villager. Ananta chewed each mouthful, painfully washing it down with water amused by his own soft city habits. Where in these outskirts was the ghee that would pop each flake into a crunchy meltin-the-mouth delicacy or the creamy yoghurt to soften it with? The plate lasted him a long while and he then retreated back into his corner.
The daylight had gone. It was past dusk, the moment the cows recognized as homecoming time. Ananta’s host stepped into the room, his hand cupped around a flickering flame. He put the little oil lamp down and settled himself on the floor. He was ready for a talk: where would Ananta go; how would he get to Kumilla; would the Chowdhury Hat Road be the best one to follow; how much money did he have? Ananta handed all his money over. His host would decide when and how he was to leave.
AMBIKA CHAKRABORTY, 24 APRIL
‘Ei shaala, kaun hai rey? Kahan sey aata hai?’ A couple of inebriated policemen called out from the distance. Ambika was standing by himself at the Dewanji ghat. He would need a boatman to ferry him across the Halda to Noapara.
‘I had gone to Fatehabad to attend a dinner invitation,’ he called back. ‘I am going home now.’
‘Ja ja bhag, shaala.’
A lone fisherman was checking his net by the light of a flickering lamp. He came across, warily eyeing the policemen. Ambika handed him eight annas. The man was pleased.
Nibaran De, of Sharada village in the Noapara Thana area, was a sympathizer. But what if he wasn’t home? Perhaps his neighbour would let him in … no matter how, he would have to make it to one refuge or the other before first light. Thanking the fisherman, he made his way down the dirt track. But the fear of the tiger brings on the dusk even quicker and the pale cold light of dawn picked out the lock that hung from Nibaran’s door. The neighbour was up, smoking his beedi at the doorstep but, at the sight of him, hurried back inside. There was no refuge to be had here. There was no choice. Ambika took to his heels. Much as it would distress her, his father’s sister – his pishima – would have to accommodate him.
Deyapara was the next village and as he burst in, it was her that he first encountered. His elderly aunt backed away hurriedly, sitting down heavily onto the ground, open-mouthed with horror. When sound did emerge from those toothless gums it was a wail of anguish. She rocked back and forth beating her chest as strands of stringy grey and oily white, which was all that was left of her hair, flapped forwards and back.
‘You cannot drive me away like … like some sort of evil spirit.’
The words came in a torrent of abuse. ‘Ey ki shorbonash! Why have you come? Why do you want to eat my son?’ Her howling brought the household running. It was something that Ambika had been totally unprepared for but he had to seize charge.
‘Stop screaming.’ He snapped at his aunt. ‘If you know what is good for you, keep calm. I am here for a day and I intend to stay. You will have to make sure I am safe. If you act funny,’ his voice grew cold and dangerous, ‘I will tell the police that you have been helping the revolutionaries for many months now … I will drag you all down with me. Let us see if that precious son of yours can hold on to that government post after that.’
Sanity returned. Pishemoshai held him by the arm drawing him indoors. ‘Now be quiet. I am here. You will be safe.’ Pishima readjusted her dishevelled sari to waddle in after him, commiserating over his wounds. ‘My poor child, how long have you gone hungry?’ She called to her son. ‘Go get him a bucket of water and a change of clothes.’
A high-grade fever with rigor had set in by evening, but there was no way out. It was dark outside and he would have to leave. Pishima and Pishemoshai
heaped blessings on his head and showed him the door. Were the wounds infected or was it the prolonged submersion in the waters of the khal? Ambika stumbled along the way, unable to think clearly.
He was standing outside a palm-leaf hut, begging to be let in. An old bearded man peered out into the dark and then came rushing to prop him up. ‘You are alive, my child, my Ambika! We thought we had lost you. Come, come you are home now. You are safe.’
‘Amjad Chacha?’ Ambika mumbled weakly. He had made his way like a homing pigeon.
Here Ambika stayed till 6 May, until he was well again. Amjad Chacha’s son set out in search of Master-da. One day, he brought news and Ambika handed him a letter: Master-da, I did not die. I am alive and well. Contact me. Shaathi.
JOHN YOUNIE, 24 APRIL
The bearer set down the supper tray. A late edition had been brought out by the Statesman. John had decided to eat by himself, for the planters were all out on patrol.
NINE KILLED IN BATTLE WITH
ARMED RAIDERS
Troops open heavy fire on Chittagong fugitives
Flight into Jungle
Police shot in a train in arresting suspects
Retreat into the jungle – raiders leave ammunition and guns before flight … (from our own correspondent) Chittagong April 23
The raiders casualties believed to be twelve, all sons of prominent citizens, well to do businessmen, none among the attacking forces … The troops opened heavy fire from the hilltops and maintained it until dark when the rebels retreated into the jungle. This being very dense the troops returned leaving pickets. This morning a patrol recruited from the railway battalion searched and found nine dead and three seriously wounded…
House Search by police. Noakhali April 22
The police searched the house of Mr Haran Chandra Ghose Chowdhury, President of the local Civil Disobedience Committees early this morning and arrested Kesavlal Ghose a first year student of Feni College… in connection with the Chittagong outrage
Police shot on Station.
Revolver attack by four passengers… a police sub inspector, two constables, ticket collector and a chaukidar were shot by four passengers from Bhatiari at Feni on the Eastern Bengal Railway on Tuesday night in connection with the Chittagong outrage… inspector removed to Chittagong by the next train … the constables to the local hospital… Sixteen people arrested at Feni following home searches believed to be in connection with the Chittagong riots…
12 Reported Killed.
Troops pursuing rebels in the jungle…
another detachment arrived today …
suspected areas being strongly guarded …
40 taxi cabs requisitioned for emergency…
John drew up a sheet of paper. No one in Chittagong had time for idle chatter but Donovan, enjoying Dorothy’s company at Barisal, most certainly did.
Circuit House, Chittagong 24.4.30
…You will have read in the Statesman of the Feni outrage. It was all due to the incredible negligence of the inspector. He had arrested four suspects and brought them in into the assistant stationmaster’s room and did not search them – can you believe it? Then one of them asked if he might go out to pumpship and as soon as he was led out he whipped out a couple of automatics and started a rough house. Needless to say, all four got away. There have been several house searches here and today they got one youth. He crawled into a culvert in the bazaar and fired at Johnson and the others. Johnson let him have it and when the corpse was dug out they found on him one revolver and one automatic. I suspect that probably quite a number of the gang either have slipped back to the jungle or else after the raid was over, nipped home to hide and if possible keep in touch with developments in Chittagong.
It appears that one part of the scheme miscarried which had for its object the whole scale shooting up of the sahibs at the club … You know the club, with the long flight of steps leading up to it … their intention was to wait and shoot up the sahibs as they all came down the steps to their cars.
It has been a thoroughly bad show from the first to the last and I can see that there is going to be a lot of dirty linen washed and much mutual recrimination when the inevitable enquiry is held …
Yours very sincerely,
J. Younie
There was plenty of the dirty linen, he had mentioned, already on display. A.R. Leishman, president of the Chittagong Chamber of Commerce, had been in a fine temper when he had dropped in for a visit. A terrorist organization, he had said unctuously, appears to have existed for some months under the very noses of the local authorities, and no action appeared to have been taken to repress their meetings or to search their houses till well after the raids. He was demanding the stationing of regular troops, the holding of vigorous searches and an immediate enquiry. I have written, he had said, to the chief secretary of the government of Bengal saying if the civil authorities had no inkling of the condition which produced this outbreak, an early explanation from the government was due to the citizens of Chittagong. If the civil authorities were in possession of any information which might justifiably demand methods of precaution, we are entitled to ask why no warning of any sort was given to the commanding officer and adjutant of the AFI Battalion of the AB Railway.1
It boggles the mind, he said, especially if you stop to consider that the attacks were carried through with military precision and obviously after much drill and rehearsal. How could they possibly have missed it?
From the little titbits that John had picked up it appeared that Lieutenant General C.J. Deverell, the officiating chief of army staff had taken serious note of the intelligence lapse and had asked the general officer commanding-in-chief, Eastern Command, to enquire whether prior information of a possible raid in Chittagong had been communicated to the headquarters, Presidency and Assam district. On learning that the answer was an unqualified no, he had written to the home ministry.2
And they were right; nobody could afford to run the risk of a similar lack of liaison occurring elsewhere.
LOKENATH BAL, 25 APRIL
Binoy-da3 led the way walking rapidly through the dark. ‘Master-da and Nirmal-da are at my house. They arrived this morning. The rest have gone home.’
Binoy, Jogesh and Gobindo were responsible first-rankers who had been reserved for the second phase of the operation. They were in their mid-twenties and had been awaiting their turn eagerly. When Lokenath and his band of six arrived at Rajat’s village home, they had been contacted by Binoy-da within hours.
‘Where have they been until now?’
‘In Jhunku’s4 village home at Noapara. Fortunately, his parents were in the city. The old caretaker, Jashti-da, had let them in. That old man is so shrewd that he required no explanations … he had heard that his little dada-babu had run away from home with a rifle and that a battle had been fought with the British. Any fool could put two and two together. Jashti-da gave them the little he had in the house … his own stock of cheerey, and was enterprising enough to arrange for a change of clothes for the twenty of them. Master-da ordered the boys, not in the police eye, to return home. Jhunku wept and pleaded with Nirmal-da. But he was firm.’
Lokenath nodded. Jhunku was one of Nirmal-da’s recruits.
‘But both Nirmal-da and Master-da were certain that his father, Ratul Babu, will be able to pull some strings at court and keep his son from being investigated. After all, Moti had taken Mihir Bose’s father’s rifle and as far as we know Mihir has not been arrested. Master-da impressed upon Jhunku that even if he did get arrested he was to be strong enough to withstand every torture possible and not blurt out names or details. Binod Bihari Dutt has been taken to his sister’s house in Fatehabad. Kali De, who took on the responsibility, will make his way home thereafter. But Lokenath,’ Binoy-da looked him in the eye. ‘I am being honest. It will be too dangerous for us to keep you. Yours is too known a face … and your colouring … bhai, it attracts too much of attention.’
‘What did Master-da do with the weapon
s?
‘Made bundles of five each and sent them off to various places. What did you do?’
Lokenath pursed his lips. ‘We wrapped them carefully and sank them in a pukur.’5
Binoy-da’s eyebrows arched upwards in horror. ‘It’s all right.’ Lokenath said. We remember the spot.
The boy on guard duty announced the arrival of Lokenath’s team. Master-da and Nirmal-da rushed downstairs to greet them. Binoy-da’s house had become the field headquarters. Master-da was in agreement: Lokenath would have to be shifted out for the sake of security.
The sentry announced the arrival of Mahendra Choudhury. ‘He is running our intelligence agency,’ explained Nirmal-da. ‘Send him up.’
The boy had participated in the armoury raid and at Jalalabad, but was again one about whom Lokenath knew little. Master-da, Ambika-da and Nirmal-da had brought in a number of unknown faces from the far-flung villages.
Mahendra began to speak in a breathless sort of way … an intense kind of lad, thought Lokenath.
‘Ambika-da was not to be found on Jalalabad … Ardhendu Dastidar is in hospital … Union Merchant Association and Sadarghat Club have been raided. Bad news – Amarendra Nandi has been shot dead in the city; Himangshu and Sukhendu were arrested the day after the raid and Sahayram Das and Subodh Roy yesterday.’ He continued ignoring the look of horror on the faces. ‘Relatives are being arrested and tortured …’ He grimaced. ‘One boy, I don’t know who, has confessed. The city has been armed to the teeth,’ he looked meaningfully at Master-da and Nirmal-da. ‘Mr Lowman is coming to visit. Oh! And the Feni encounter … the revolutionaries shot their way out.’
‘Where is Ananta-da?’ One of the younger lot piped up.
Master-da rose. Placing his arm around Mahendra’s shoulders, he led him out of the room. Lokenath watched as Master-da placed his mouth right next to Mahendra’s ear. It was a piece of advice he gave all his trusted boys: give information on a need-to-know basis only. Mahendra slipped a note from out of his shoe. ‘Sati-da sent this for you.’
Chittagong Summer of 1930 Page 35