The Life and Death of Mahatma Gandhi (The Robert Payne Library)

by Robert Payne

  Increasingly, as the preparations for the fast went forward, it became clear that Gandhi was far less interested in the Communal Award than in shaking the Hindus out of their apathy toward the untouchables. He wanted a revolutionary change of heart, a sudden alteration in the nature of Hindu society. The decision handed down by the British Prime Minister merely supplied a time and an occasion.

  As he had promised, the fast began at noon on September 20. He awoke early that morning; there were the usual prayers and the singing of his favorite hymn Vaishnava Jana, which he liked to hear at all times and most especially when he was about to undergo some trial, and there was the usual meal of fruit and milk. This was followed between 6:30 and 8:00 o’clock with the recital from the Bhagavad Gita. About this time he received a telegram from Tagore saying that he wholeheartedly approved of the fast “for the sake of India’s unity and her social integrity,” while fervently praying that the fast would not reach its extreme length. Earlier in the morning he wrote to Tagore announcing that he would enter “the fiery gates” at noon and hoped for his blessing, while fearing his condemnation. The telegram from Tagore came as a great relief, for he regarded the poet as the conscience of the country. Thereafter he felt no more doubts. At 11:30 A.M. he took his last meal of lemon juice and honey, and at noon, lying in his cot and listening to the jail bell striking the hour, he prepared himself for a long and exhausting battle.

  So the day passed quietly, while from time to time the doctors came and watched over him, and far away, in Santiniketan, Tagore, wearing a black robe to mark the solemnity of the occasion, addressed his students and spoke of the shadow thrown by the eclipsed sun darkening the face of India and the world. Gandhi was in good spirits. He was preparing himself for the evening when, breaking all precedent, he would be permitted to give his first interview to the press since entering the prison.

  The correspondents gathered round him while he spoke in a low voice about the “poisoned cup” of untouchability and his desire to shatter the cup. He spoke about the British government decision, but only in passing. The Communal Award vanished into insignificance beside the daring decision to attempt to wrestle with Hindu society and to shape it closer to his desire. “What I want, what I am living for, and what I should delight in dying for, is the eradication of untouchability root and branch,” he told the correspondents, and went on to proclaim that if untouchability was really rooted out, “it will not only purge Hinduism of a terrible blot but its repercussion will be world-wide.” He meant by this that he was also fasting for all the deprived classes in the world, and hoped in some way to reach out to them from his prison cell and to lighten their burdens.

  But even as he spoke, it became clear that the reasons of the fast were so complex, and the aims so various, that he did not himself know their full extent. A fast, as practiced by Gandhi, was a kind of shock treatment imposed upon the Indian people against their will, for reasons which sometimes seemed incomprehensible, with aims which were often indefinable. He was well aware that shock waves travel at astonishing speeds and are unpredictable in their effects. He simply did not know and could not guess what the final effect of the fast might be. He knew that one of the consequences might be his own death.

  He would talk about his own death quietly, as though it were something which must be regarded as likely and perhaps desirable. He did not want any decisions to be made in mad haste; Congress, the Depressed Classes and the British authorities must come to an agreement among themselves, in their own time. Gandhi reminded the correspondents that water has an infinite capacity for prolonging life, and he would take water whenever he felt he required it. He was hinting that he could survive perhaps for two weeks, while the correspondents, looking at the slight, slender figure swathed in a white shawl, wondered whether he could last out a week. He was preparing himself for a long fast. “You can depend upon me to make a supreme effort to hold myself together so that the Hindu conscience may be quickened as also the British conscience and this agony may end,” he declared, and then he added: “My cry will rise to the throne of the Almighty God.”

  Almost from the beginning the doctors feared for his life. He was now over sixty, and eight years had passed since he undertook a twenty-one-day fast in Delhi in 1924. The fast had been undertaken in freedom, with a bevy of doctors in attendance and in the comforting presence of friends. A fast in prison was a new experience, likely to be dangerous because of official red tape. In fact, there was a minimum of red tape, and the prison officials acted tactfully and sensibly.

  On the morning of September 21 an extraordinary meeting was held in the prison office. It was attended by Sir Tej Bahadur Sapru, G. D. Birla, Rajendra Pras, d, Rajagopalachari, Gandhi, Patel, and Mahadev Desai. Devadas Gandhi was also present. Terms to be offered to Dr. Ambedkar, the leader of the Depressed Classes, were discussed. They were highly technical, involving the adoption of a system of primary and secondary elections for a limited number of seats, and the weight to be attached to the seats. Gandhi sat at the center of the table, listening to each proposal as it was offered, nodding gravely, holding himself in reserve, agreeing to none of the suggestions because he had not yet seen Dr. Ambedkar and therefore was unable to gauge whether they were acceptable. The delegation hurried off to Bombay for further discussions, and because Gandhi was showing the effects of strain, it was decided to let him stay in one of the prison courtyards, with an iron cot set up in the shadow of a mango tree.

  For the rest of the day he lay under the tree, talking rarely because talking exhausted him. There was a small table beside him, filled with odds and ends, books, papers, bottles of water, salt, bicarbonate of soda. From time to time he would pour out some water, adding a pinch of salt and soda before drinking it. Sarojini Naidu had received a special dispensation from the prison authorities, and she joined Patel and Mahadev Desai under the mango tree. A fiercely protective woman, she took complete charge, and since she was good-humored and good-natured, even Patel submitted to her imperious will.

  The miracle that Gandhi had hoped for had already taken place. All over India the untouchables were being welcomed into the Hindu temples without restriction. Great temples which had never permitted a single untouchable to enter their precincts suddenly flung open their doors. As reports reached the prison of more and more temples opening their doors to the untouchables, Gandhi began to believe that the day of reconciliation was about to dawn. “The agony of soul is not going to end until every trace of untouchability is gone,” he wrote. “Thank God there is not only one man in the movement but thousands who will lay down their lives in order to achieve this reform in its fullness.”

  Meanwhile the conferences continued, and every day there were visitors with new proposals, new modifications of the original proposals, and modifications of modifications. The fast, which had succeeded in opening so many temple doors, appeared to close men’s minds and paralyze them when it came to working out a suitable formula for the elections. Dr. Ambedkar wanted less than Gandhi was prepared to grant, but he stuck rigidly to his formulas. Negotiations reached an impasse, while messengers hurried between Bombay and Poona to announce that a sentence in the proposed agreement had been altered by a single word or an entire paragraph had been eliminated. Dr. Ambedkar came to the prison. “I want my compensation,” he said firmly, and Gandhi, who had offered him more compensation than he ever dreamed of, murmured weakly: “You say you are interested in my life?”

  Dr. Ambedkar was a hard bargainer, and refused to agree on anything less than his original demands. He could not be argued with, or maneuvered into a position of compromise. The negotiations came to resemble a formal dance of exquisite politeness and complexity, while all the time Gandhi grew weaker. His blood pressure was alarmingly high, he could no longer walk and had to be carried on a stretcher to the bathroom, and had to be helped even when he turned in his bed at night. He was living on his muscle, for there was no fat on him. Pyarelal, who visited him, observed with horror that he no l
onger seemed to be safeguarding his health. He had grown reckless, and was evidently in great pain from cramps, no longer in complete command of his body. The government believed that he was seriously considering his threat to carry out a fast unto death, and hastily transferred Kasturbai from her prison at Sabarmati to the prison at Poona. “Again, the same old story!” she exclaimed when she greeted him. In this bantering way she expressed her helpless affection for him.

  So many visitors were permitted to come to the prison that Sarojini Naidu appointed herself doorkeeper; only those visitors who met her approval were allowed to enter. She looked like a magnificent bird of prey protecting her young.

  By September 26 the pact known as the Yeravda Agreement, hammered out with so much difficulty for so long a time, was being presented to the cabinet in London, with Charlie Andrews acting as the London representative. Precise arrangements had been made for the election of members of the Depressed Classes, the formulas had all been agreed upon, and it only remained for Ramsay MacDonald and Sir Samuel Hoare to give their verdict. The Prime Minister had been attending a funeral in Sussex, but the news was sufficiently important to demand his return to Downing Street. By midnight they decided that they could have no objection to substituting the agreement for their own decision, and simultaneous announcements were made in London and Delhi. It remained to be seen whether Gandhi, who was opposed to some of the clauses, would accept a document which was the best that could be worked out in the limited time.

  On that morning he was examined by doctors, who pronounced that he was growing progressively weaker, and though apparently comfortable and no longer suffering from nausea and vomiting, he was entering the dangerous phase of a fast. He had reached the stage when, even if he broke the fast, there was no guarantee that he would fully recover. There was the danger that paralysis might set in. At all costs the fast must be ended.

  The official document signifying the Cabinet’s agreement together with the full terms of the Yeravda Agreement had not yet arrived, and Gandhi was in no mood to end the fast simply because the Cabinet had agreed in principle to something he had not seen. So the morning passed quietly in the humid courtyard, the leaves of the mango tree motionless in the windless air, Gandhi lying very still on the white bed, Patel and Mahadev Desai saying nothing, for they were afraid to weaken him further.

  Later that morning Rabindranath Tagore entered the prison courtyard, having hurried across the whole width of India to sit beside his friend. He was overcome with emotion, buried his face on Gandhi’s chest, and remained in this position for some time before speaking. He had heard the news about the Cabinet agreement. “I have come floating on the tide of good news,” he said. “I am so glad I have come in time.” Then they talked for a while, very softly, and at last seeing that Gandhi was ill and drawn, the Poet moved away. Once more Gandhi was left alone with his thoughts.

  Just after four o’clock in the afternoon Colonel Doyle, the Inspector General of Prisons, entered the courtyard with the long-awaited document, which he placed in Gandhi’s hands, saying he was leaving it in his care so that he could study it undisturbed. Then the colonel slipped away, Some of Gandhi’s friends were in the courtyard, and they waited until he had finished reading the document, some fearing that he would reject it out of hand, others hoping that he would immediately accept it. Instead, he suggested that the document must first go to Dr. Ambedkar for his approval. Someone suggested that this would mean more conferences. There were arguments and counterarguments. Gandhi appeared to be reconciled to the idea of a new series of conferences, but no one else looked upon the idea favorably. Finally, realizing that there was no certainty that a better agreement could be drawn up, and every likelihood that more conferences would produce a dangerous political turmoil, he agreed, although with misgivings, to break the fast.

  The ceremonial breaking of the fast took place an hour after he received the document. The courtyard was sprinkled with water. Tables were set up. About two hundred people, who had been congregating at the gates, were permitted to cluster around the courtyard. Rabindranath Tagore led the prayer by singing one of the Bengali hymns from Gitanjali:

  When my heart is dry and parched, come with a

  merciful shower,

  When grace has departed from life, come with a

  burst of song.

  There followed the chanting of some Sanskrit verses by a fellow prisoner, a leper called Parchure Shastri, and then everyone sang Gandhi’s favorite hymn, Vaishnava Jana. Only then did Kasturbai give Gandhi the glass of orange juice which signified the end of the six-day fast.

  But if the fast was over, the work to bring about an end to untouchability in India had only just begun. Gandhi had kindled a flame which swept across India. Never again, it seemed, would the untouchables be despised and hated by the Caste Hindus. Never again would they be excluded from the temples, the wells, the pasture lands and the dwelling places of the Brahmins. It was as though quite suddenly the Hindus had entered a new dispensation where there was no more ill-treatment of the scavengers and sweepers, and where the untouchables were untouchable no longer. Gandhi’s fast had electrified the country. He had dramatized the insoluble problem by threatening to starve unto death unless the problem was solved. But it was not solved. For a week there was a happy delirium; then the temple doors closed again, and the untouchables were once more left to their own resources.

  On September 29, three days after the end of the fast, the authorities at Yeravda Jail were given new instructions. Gandhi was to be treated like any ordinary prisoner, and no more visitors would be allowed. Some of his special privileges were withdrawn. In the seclusion of his cell, without contact with the outside world, he must pay the penalty demanded by the Crown.

  The Wounded Lion

  GANDHI BELIEVED that prison offered spectacular advantages to a prisoner. It tested his will, provided him with the leisure to read and to meditate, and granted him the freedom to be alone with himself. If he beat hard enough against the walls, they would fall down. If he spoke loud enough, he would be heard, and if he wrote powerfully enough, he might produce a book that would shake the world.

  In Yeravda Jail he was still a privileged prisoner, and he had not the slightest difficulty in finding books, paper, ink, secretaries and attendants. When he spoke, his words were recorded, and when he wrote, his words were printed. It occurred to him that there was need for a weekly newspaper dealing with the Harijans; he would call it Harijan, and publish it from Poona. G. D. Birla would finance it, and there would be no difficulty in finding suitable contributors. It would be Gandhi’s mouthpiece, and he would write the leading articles. G. D. Birla was wholeheartedly in favor of the enterprise, and the first number of Harijan came off the press in February 1933 in an edition of ten thousand copies. Gandhi had always admired John Bunyan for writing Pilgrims Progress in prison, but it was almost a comparable feat to be the managing editor of a newspaper with a nation-wide circulation while a prisoner in a cell.

  The British authorities raised no objections. Indeed they were delighted that he was now occupying himself with the untouchables rather than with swaraj, non-violent non-cooperation, or the Government of India. But Gandhi derived no comfort from the publication of Harijan, and he was tormented by a sense of failure as he surveyed his work on behalf of the untouchables. Untouchability was a sin so vast that it demanded penitential sacrifices, and he wondered whether he was not among those who would be chosen to offer themselves as willing victims. For many days he brooded restlessly over the untouchables, and then there came to him in the middle of the night the answer to all his doubts.

  Once before, at the time of the great hartal, he had heard a voice speaking out of the darkness, but this voice had spoken only a single word. Now the voice engaged him in conversation, answered questions and issued commands. Gandhi has described this strange auditory mystical experience with an air of complete conviction. He wrote:

  I had gone to sleep the night before without th
e slightest idea of having to declare a fast next morning. At about twelve o’clock in the night something wakes me up suddenly, and some voice—within or without, I cannot say— whispers, “Thou must go on a fast.” “How many days?” I ask. The voice again says, “Twenty-one days.” “When does it begin?” I ask. It says, “You begin tomorrow.” I went off to sleep after making the decision. I did not tell anything to my companions until after the morning prayers.

  The voice spoke on the night of April 28, 1933, commanding him to begin the fast on the following day, but for some reason Gandhi preferred to begin the fast on May 8. He spoke as one who had heard the authentic voice of God, and described it as an unconditional and irrevocable “heart prayer for purification of myself and my associates for greater vigilance and watchfulness in connection with the Harijan cause.”

  Usually his friends had accepted his fasts regretfully, regarding them as natural phenomena like floods or earthquakes; they could not be prevented, and it was folly to try. But something about his manner of announcing this fast suggested that he was once more contemplating a fast unto death. He was dreadfully serious. Tagore implored him not to refuse the gift of life, while Romain Rolland and Charlie Andrews telegraphed their sympathy and approval: they were far away, and could not guess what was happening. Rajagopalachari, who feared the worst, suggested that Gandhi should first submit to a medical examination to see whether he was strong enough to undergo the fast. Gandhi indignantly rejected the idea, saying that this would only prove that he lacked faith. Rajagopalachari thereupon accused him of claiming’ infallibility, while conceding nothing. It was a devastating criticism, and Gandhi flared up in anger, only to regret his anger the next day. He apologized, and submitted to a medical examination. At noon on May 8 the fast began under the mango tree in the dusty prison yard. At 9:30 P.M. on the same evening the government published an official communique saying that in view of the nature and object of the fast, it had decided to set him at liberty. No released prisoner was ever more surprised. All his energies had been concentrated on the fast, and he was almost incapable of permitting any other thought to enter his mind; and now, quite suddenly, new decisions had to be made, new rituals had to be performed. He was like an actor who discovers that all the scenery has vanished, and he is alone on an empty stage with no audience and no other actors in sight.