An Autobiography or the Story of My Experiments with Truth

by M K Gandhi

  I hastened from the Court,M9 not knowing whether my client won or lost her case, but I was ashamed of myself, and decided not to take up any more cases until I had courage enough to conduct them. Indeed I did not go to Court again until I went to South Africa. There was no virtue in my decision. I had simply made a virtue of necessity.53 There would be no one so foolish as to entrust his case to me, only to lose it!

  But there was another case in store for me at Bombay. It was a memorial to be drafted. A poor Mussalman’s land was confiscated in Porbandar. He approached me as the worthyM10 son of a worthy father. His case appeared to be weak, but I consented to draft a memorial for him, the cost of printing to be borne by him. I drafted it and read it out to friends. They approved of it, and that to some extent made me feel confident that I was qualified enough to draft a memorial, as indeed I really was.

  My business could flourish if I drafted memorials without any fees.54 But that would bring no grist to the mill.M11 So I thought I might take up a teacher’s job. My knowledge of English was good enough, and I should have loved to teach English to Matriculation boys in some school. In this way I could have met part at least of the expenses. I came across an advertisement in the papers: ‘Wanted, an English teacher to teach one hour daily. Salary Rs. 75.’ The advertisement was from a famous high school. I applied for the post and was called for an interview. I went there in high spirits, but when the principal found that I was not a graduate, he regretfully refused me.

  ‘But I have passed the London Matriculation with Latin as my second language.’

  ‘True, but we want a graduate.’

  There was no help for it. I wrung my hands in despair. My brother also felt much worried. We both came to the conclusion that it was no use spending more time in Bombay. I should settle in Rajkot where my brother, himself a petty pleader, could give me some work in the shape of drafting applications and memorials. And then as there was already a household at Rajkot, the breaking up of the one at Bombay meant a considerable saving. I liked the suggestion. My little establishment was thus closed after a stay of six months in Bombay.55

  I used to attend High Court daily whilst in Bombay, but I cannot say that I learnt anything there. I had not sufficient knowledge to learn much. Often I could not follow the cases and dozed off. There were others also who kept me company in this, and thus lightened my load of shame. After a time, I even lost the sense of shame, as I learnt to think that it was fashionable to doze in the High Court.

  If the present generation has also its briefless barristers like me in Bombay, I would commend them a little practical precept about living. Although I lived in Girgaum I hardly ever took a carriage or a tramcar. I had made it a rule to walk to the High Court. It took me quite forty-five minutes, and of course I invariably returned home on foot. I had inured myself to the heat of the sun. This walk to and from the Court saved a fair amount of money, and when many of my friends in Bombay used to fall ill, I do not remember having once had an illness. Even when I began to earn money, I kept up the practice of walking to and from the office, and I am still reaping the benefits of that practice.

  IV

  THE FIRST SHOCK

  Disappointed, I left Bombay and went to Rajkot where I set up my own office. Here I got along moderately well. Drafting applications and memorials brought me in, on an average, Rs. 300 a month. For this56 work I had to thank influence rather than my own ability, for my brother’s partner had a settled practice. All applications, etc., which were really or to his mind of an important character, he sent to big barristers. To my lot fell the applications to be drafted on behalf of his poor clients.

  I must confess that57 here I had to compromise the58 principle of giving no commission, which in Bombay I had so scrupulously observed. I was told that conditions in the two cases were different; that whilst in Bombay commissions had to be paid to touts, here they had to be paid to vakils who briefed you;59 and that here as in Bombay all barristers, without exception, paid a percentage of their fees as commission. The argument of my brother was, for me, unanswerable. ‘You see,’ said he, ‘that I am in partnership with another vakil. I shall always be inclined to make over to you all our cases with which you can possibly deal, and if you refuse to pay a commission to my partner, you are sure to embarrass me. As you and I have a joint establishment, your fee comes to our common purse,60 and I automatically get a share. But what about my partner? Supposing he gave the same case to some other barrister,M1 he would certainly get his commission from him.’M2 I was taken in by this plea, and felt that, if I was to practise as a barrister, I could not press my principle regarding commission in such cases. That is how I argued with myself, or to put it bluntly, how I deceived myself. Let me add, however, that I do not remember ever to have given a commission in respect of any other case.

  Though I thus began to make both ends meet, I got the first shock of my life about this time. I had heard what a British officer was like, but up to now had never beenM3 face to face with one.

  My brother had been secretary and adviser to the late Ranasaheb of Porbandar61 before he was installed on his gadi,62 and hanging over his head at this time was the charge of having given wrong advice when in that office.63 The matter had gone to the Political Agent64 who was prejudiced against my brother. Now I had known this officer when in England, and he may be said to have been fairly friendly to me. My brother thought that I should avail myself of the friendship and, putting in a good word on his behalf, try to disabuse the Political Agent of his prejudice. I did not at all like this idea. I should not, I thought,65 try to take advantage of a trifling acquaintance in England. If my brother was really at fault, what use was my recommendation? If he was innocent, he should submit a petition in the proper course and, confident of his innocence, faceM4 the result. My brother did not relish this advice. ‘You do not know Kathiawad,’ he said, ‘and you have yet to know the world. Only influence counts here. It is not proper for you, a brother, to shirk your duty, when you can clearly put in a good word about me to an officer you know.’

  I could not refuse him, so I went to the officer much against my will. I knew I had no right to approach him and was fully conscious that I was compromising my self-respect. But I sought an appointment and got it. I reminded him of the old acquaintance, but I immediately saw that Kathiawad was different from England; that an officer on leave was not the same as an officer on duty. The Political Agent owned the acquaintance, but the reminder seemed to stiffen him. ‘Surely you have not come here to abuse that acquaintance, have you?’ appeared to be the meaning of that stiffness, and seemed to be written on his brow.M5 Nevertheless I opened my case. The sahib was impatient. ‘Your brother is an intriguer. I want to hear nothing more from you. I have no time. If your brother has anything to say, let him apply through the proper channel.’ The answer was enough, was perhaps deserved. But selfishness is blind. I went on with my story.M6 The sahib got up and said: ‘You must go now.’

  ‘But please hear me out,’ said I. That made him more angry. He called his peon and ordered him to show me the door.66 M7 I was still hesitatingM8 when the peon came in, placed his hands on my shoulders and put me out of the room.

  The sahib went away as also the peon, and I departed fretting and fuming. I at once wrote out and sent over a note to this effect: ‘You have insulted me. You have assaulted me through your peon. If you make no amends, I shall have to proceed against you.’

  Quick came the answer through his sowar:67

  ‘You were rude to me. I asked you to go and you would not. I had no option but to order my peon to show you the door. Even after he asked you to leave the office, you did not do so. He therefore had to use just enough force to send you out. You are at liberty to proceed as you wish.’

  With this answer in my pocket, I came home crestfallen, and told my brother all that had happened. He was grieved, but was at a loss as to how to console me. He spoke to his vakil friends. For I did not know how to proceed against the sahib. Sir Phero
zeshah Mehta happened to be in Rajkot at this time, having come down from Bombay68 for some case. But how could a junior barrister like me dare to see him? So I sent him the papers of my case, through the vakil who had engaged him, and begged for his advice. ‘Tell Gandhi,’ he said, ‘such things are the common experience of many vakils and barristers. He is still fresh from England, and hot-blooded.M9 He does not know British officers. If he would earn something and have an easy time here, let him tear up the note and pocket the insult. He will gain nothing by proceeding against the sahib, and on the contrary will very likely ruin himself. Tell him he has yet to know life.’69

  The advice was as bitter as poison to me, but I had to swallow it. I pocketed the insult, but also profited by it.M10 ‘Never again shall I place myself in such a false70 position, never again shall I try to exploit friendship in this way,’ said I to myself, and since then I have never been guilty of a breach of that determination. This shock changed the course of my life.

  V

  PREPARING FOR SOUTH AFRICA

  I was no doubt at fault in having gone to that officer. But his impatience71 and overbearing anger were out of all proportion to my mistake. It did not warrant expulsion. I can scarcely have taken up more than five minutes of his time. But he simply could not endure my talking. He could have politely asked me to go, but power had intoxicated him to an inordinate extent. Later I came to know that patience was not one of the virtues of this officer. It was usual for him to insult his visitors. The slightest unpleasantness was sure to put the sahib out.

  Now most of my work would naturally be in his court. It was beyond me to conciliate him. I had no desire to curry favour with him. Indeed, having once threatened to proceed against him, I did not like to remain silent.M1

  Meanwhile I began to learn something of the petty politics of the country.M2 Kathiawad, being a conglomeration of small States, naturally had its rich crop of politicals. Petty intrigues between States, and intrigues of officers for power were the order of the day. Princes were always at the mercy of others and ready to lend their ears to sycophants. Even the sahib’s peon had to be cajoled, and the sahib’s shirastedar was more than his master, as he was his eyes, his ears and his interpreter. The shirastedar’s will was law, and his income was always reputed to be more than the sahib’s. This may have been an exaggeration, but he certainly lived beyond his salary.

  This atmosphere appeared to me to be poisonous, and how to remain unscathedM3 was a perpetual problem for me.

  I was thoroughly depressed and my brother clearly saw it. We both felt that, if I could secure some job, I should be free from this atmosphere of intrigue. But without intrigue a ministership or judgeship was out of the question. And the quarrel with the sahib stood in the way of practice.

  Porbandar was then under administration,72 and I had some work there in the shape of securingM4 more powers for the Prince. Also I had to see the Administrator in respect of the heavy vighoti (land rent) exacted from the Mers. This officer, though an Indian,73 was, I found, one better than the sahib in arrogance. He was able, but the ryots appeared to me to be none the better off for his ability. I succeeded in securing a few more74 powers for the Rana, but hardly any relief for the Mers. It struck me that their cause was not even carefully gone into.

  So even in this mission I was comparatively disappointed. I thought justice was not done to my clients, but I had not the means to secure it. At the most I could have appealed to the Political Agent or to the GovernorM5 who would have dismissed the appeal saying, ‘We decline to interfere.’ If there had been any rule or regulation governing such decisions, it would have been something, but here the sahib’s will was law.

  I was exasperated.

  In the meantime a Meman firm from Porbandar wrote to my brother making the following offer: ‘We have business in South Africa. Ours is a big firm, and we have a big case there in the Court, our claim being £40,000. It has been going on for a long time. We have engaged the services of the best vakils and barristers. If you sent your brother there, he would be useful to us and also to himself. He would be able to instruct our counsel better than ourselves. And he would have the advantage of seeing a new part of the world, and of making new acquaintances.’

  My brother discussed the proposition with me. I could not clearly make out whether I had simply to instruct the counsel or to appear in court. But I was tempted.

  My brother introduced me to the late Sheth Abdul Karim Jhaveri,75 a partner of Dada Abdulla & Co.,76 the firm in question. ‘It won’t be a difficult job,’ the Sheth assured me. ‘We have big Europeans as our friends, whose acquaintance you will make. You can be useful to us in our shop. Much of our correspondence is in English and you can help us with that too. You will, of course, be our guestM6 and hence will have no expense whatever.’

  ‘How long do you require my services?’ I asked. ‘And what will be the payment?’

  ‘Not more than a year. We will pay you a first class return fare and a sum of £105, all found.’

  This was hardly going there as a barrister. It was going as a servant of the firm.M7 But I wanted somehow to leave India. There was also the tempting opportunity of seeing a new country and of having new experience. Also I could send £105 to my brother and help in the expenses of the household. I closed with the offer77 without any higgling and got ready to go to South Africa.

  VI

  ARRIVAL IN NATAL

  When starting for South Africa I did not feel the wrench of separation which I had experienced when leaving for England. My mother was now no more. I had gained some knowledge of the world and of travel abroad, and going from Rajkot to Bombay was no unusual affair.

  This time I only felt the pang of parting with my wife. Another baby78 had been born to us since my return from England. Our love could not yet be called free from lust, but it was getting gradually purer. Since my return from Europe,M1 we had lived very little together; and as I had now become her teacher, however indifferent, and helped her to make certain reforms, we both felt the necessity of being more together, if only to continue the reforms. But the attraction of South Africa rendered the separation bearable. ‘We are bound to meet again in a year,’ I said to her, by way of consolation, and left Rajkot for Bombay.79

  Here I was to get my passage through the agent of Dada Abdulla and Company. But no berthM2 was available on the boat, and if I did not sail then, I should be stranded in Bombay.80 ‘We have tried our best,’ said the agent, ‘to secure a first-class81 passage, but in vain—unless you are prepared to go on deck. Your meals can be arranged for in the saloon.’ Those were the days of my first-class travelling, and how could a barrister travel as a deck passenger? So I refused the offer. I suspected the agent’s veracity, for I could not believe that a first-class passage was not available. With the agent’s consent I set about securing it myself. I went on board the boat and met the chief officer.82 He said to me quite frankly, ‘We do not usually have such a rush. But as the Governor-General of Mozambique83 is going by this boat, all the berths are engaged.’

  ‘Could you not possibly squeeze me in?’ I asked.

  He surveyed me from top to toe and smiled. ‘There is just one way,’ he said. ‘There is an extra berthM3 in my cabin, which is usually not available for passengers. But I am prepared to give it to you.’84 I thanked him and got the agent to purchase the passage. In April 1893 I set forth full of zest to try my luck in South Africa.85

  The first port of call was Lamu, which we reached in about thirteen days.86 The Captain and I had become great friends by this time. He was fond of playing chess, but as he was quite a novice, he wanted one still more of a beginner for his partner, and so he invited me. I had heard a lot about the game but had never tried my hand atM4 it. Players used to say that this was a game in which there was plenty of scope for the exercise of one’s intelligence. The Captain offered to give me lessons, and he found me a good pupil as I had unlimited patience. Every time I was the loser, and that made him all the more eag
er to teach me. I liked the game, but never carried my liking beyond the boat or my knowledge beyond the moves of the pieces.M5

  At Lamu the ship remained at anchor for some three to four hours, and I landed to see the port. The Captain had also gone ashore, but he had warned me that the harbour was treacherous and that I should return in good time.

  It was a very small place. I went to the Post Office and was delighted to see the Indian clerks there, and had a talk with them. I also saw the Africans and tried to acquaint myself with their ways of life which interested me very much. This took up some time.

  There were some deck passengers with whom I had made acquaintance, and who had landed with a view to cooking their food on shore and having a quiet meal. I now found them preparing to return to the steamer, so87 we all got into the same boat. The tide was high in the harbour and our boat had more than its proper load. The current was so strong that it was impossible to hold the boat to the ladder of the steamer. It would just touch the ladder and be drawn away again by the current. The first whistle to start had already gone. I was worried. The Captain was witnessing our plight from the bridge. He ordered the steamer to wait an extra five minutes. There was another boat near the ship which a friend hired for me for ten rupees. This boat picked me up from the overloaded one. The ladder had already been raised. I had therefore to be drawn up by means of a rope and the steamer started immediately. The other passengers were left behind. I now appreciated the Captain’s warning.

  After Lamu the next port was Mombasa and then Zanzibar. The halt here was a long one—eight or ten days—and we then changed to another boat.88

  The Captain liked me much but the liking took an undesirable turn. He invited an English friend and me to accompany him on an outing, and we all went ashore in his boat. I had not the least notion of what the outing meant. And little did the Captain know what an ignoramus I was in such matters. We were taken to some Negro women’s quarters by a tout. We were each shown into a room. I simply stood there dumb with shame. Heaven only knows what the poor woman must have thought of me. When the Captain called me I came out just as I had gone in. He saw my innocence. At first I felt very much ashamed, but as I could not think of the thing except with horror, the sense of shame wore away, and I thanked God that the sight of the womanM6 had not moved me in the least. I was disgusted at my weakness and pitied myself for not having had the courage to refuse to go into the room.