by M K Gandhi
Just as there was a storm outside, so was there a storm in the Ashram itself. Though in South Africa untouchable friends used to come to my place and live and feed with me, my wife and other women did not seem quite to relish the admission into the Ashram of the untouchable friends. My141 eyes and142 ears easily detected their indifference, if not their dislike, towards Danibehn. The monetary difficulty had caused me no anxiety, but this internal storm was more than I could bear. Danibehn was an ordinary woman. Dudabhai was a man with slight education but of good understanding. I liked his patience. Sometimes he did flare up, but on the whole I was well impressed with his forbearance. I pleaded with him to swallow minor insults. He not only agreed, but prevailed upon his wife to do likewise.
The admission of this family proved a valuable lesson to the Ashram. In the very beginning we proclaimed to the world that the Ashram would not countenance untouchability. Those who wanted to help the Ashram were thus put on their guard,M2 and the work of the Ashram in this direction was considerably simplified. The fact that it is mostly the real orthodox Hindus who have met the daily growing expenses of the Ashram is perhaps a clear indication that untouchability is shaken to its foundation. There are indeed many other proofs of this, but the fact that goodM3 Hindus do not scruple to help an Ashram where we go to the length of dining with the untouchables is no small proof.
I am sorry that I should have to skip over quite a number of things pertaining to this subject, how we tackled delicate questions arising out of the main question, how we had to overcomeM4 some unexpected difficulties, and various other matters which are quite relevant to a description of experiments with Truth. The chapters that follow will also suffer from the same drawback. I shall have to omit important details, because most of the characters in the drama are still alive, and it is not proper without permission to use their names in connection with events with which they are concerned. It is hardly practicable to obtain their consent or to get them every now and then to revise the chapters concerning themselves. Besides, such procedure is outside the limit of this autobiography. I therefore fear that the rest of the story, valuable as it is in my opinion to seekers after Truth, will be told with inevitable omissions. Nevertheless, it is my desire and hope, God willing, to bring this narrative down to the days of Non-co-operation.
XI
ABOLITION OF INDENTURED EMIGRATIONM1
We shall, for a moment, take leave of the Ashram, which in the very beginning had to weather internal and external storms, and briefly advert to a matter that engaged my attention.M2
Indentured labourers were those who had emigrated from India to labour under an indenture for five years or less.143 Under the Smuts-Gandhi Settlement of 19l4,M3 the £3 tax in respect of the indentured emigrants to Natal had been abolished. But the general emigration from India still needed treatment.M4
In March 1916 Pandit Madan Mohan Malaviyaji moved a resolution in the Imperial Legislative Council for the abolition of the indenture system. In accepting the motion Lord Hardinge announced that he had ‘obtained from His Majesty’s GovernmentM5 the promise of the abolition in due course’ of the system. I felt, however, that India could not be satisfied with so very vague an assurance, but ought to agitate for immediate abolition.M6 India had tolerated the system through her sheer negligence, and I believed the time had come when people could successfully agitate for this redress.M7 I met some of the leaders, wrote in the Press144 and saw that public opinion was solidly in favour of immediate abolition. Might this be a fit subject for satyagraha? I had no doubt that it was, but I did not know the modus operandi.
In the meantime the Viceroy had made no secret ofM8 the meaning of ‘the eventual abolition’, which, as he said, was abolition ‘within such reasonable time as will allow of alternative arrangements being introduced’.
So in February 1917,145 Pandit Malaviyaji asked for leave to introduce a bill for the immediate abolition of the system. Lord Chelmsford refused permission. It was time for me to tour the country for an all-India agitation.
Before I started the agitation I thought it proper to wait upon the Viceroy. So I applied for an interview. He immediately granted it. Mr. Maffey, now Sir John Maffey,146 was his private secretary. I came in close contact with him. I had a satisfactory talk with Lord Chelmsford who, without being definite, promised to be helpful.
I began my tour from Bombay. Mr. Jehangir Petit147 undertook to convene the meeting under the auspices of the Imperial Citizenship Association.148 The Executive Committee of the Association met first for framing the resolutions to be moved at the meeting. Dr. Stanley Reed,149 Sjt. (now Sir) Lallubhai Samaldas,150 Sjt. Natarajan151 and Mr. Petit were present at the Committee meeting. The discussion centred round the fixing of the period within which the Government was to be asked to abolish the system. There were three proposals, viz., for abolition ‘as soon as possible’, abolition ‘by the 31st July’,152 and ‘immediate abolition’. I was for a definite date as we could then decide what to do if the Government failed to accede to our request within the time limit. Sjt. Lallubhai was for ‘immediate’ abolition. He said ‘immediate’ indicated a shorter period than the 31st July. I explained that the people would not understand the word ‘immediate’. If we wanted to get them to do something, they must have a more definite word. Everyone would interpret ‘immediate’ in his own way—Government one way, the people another way. There was no question of misunderstanding ‘the 31st of July’, and if nothing was done by that date, we could proceed further. Dr. Reed saw the force of the argument, and ultimately Sjt. Lallubhai also agreed. We adopted the 31st July as the latest date by which the abolition should be announced, a resolution to that effect was passed at the public meeting, and meetings throughout India resolved accordingly.
Mrs. Jaiji Petit put all her energies into the organization of a ladies’ deputation to the Viceroy. Amongst the ladies from Bombay who formed the deputation, I remember the names of Lady Tata153 and the late Dilshad Begum. The deputation had a great effect. The Viceroy gave an encouraging reply.
I visited Karachi,154 Calcutta155 and various other places.156 There were fine meetings everywhere, and there was unbounded enthusiasm. I had not expected anything like it when the agitation was launched.
In those days I used to travel alone, and had therefore wonderful experiences. The C.I.D. menM9 were always after me.157 But as I had nothing to conceal, they did not molest me, nor did I cause them any trouble. Fortunately I had not then received the stamp of Mahatmaship, though the shout of that name was quite common where people knew me.
On one occasion the detectives disturbed me at several stations, asked for my ticket and took down the number. I, of course, readily replied to all the questions they asked. My fellow-passengers had taken me to be a ‘sadhu’158 or a ‘fakir’. When they saw that I was being molested at every station, they were exasperated and swore at the detectives. ‘Why are you worrying the poor sadhu for nothing?’159 they protested. ‘Don’t you show these scoundrels your ticket,’160 they said, addressing me.
I said to them gently: ‘It is no trouble to show them my ticket. They are doing their duty.’161 The passengers were not satisfied, they evinced more and more sympathy, and strongly objected to this sort of ill-treatment of innocent men.
But the detectives were nothing. The real hardship was the third-class travelling.M10 My bitterest experience was from Lahore to Delhi. I was going to Calcutta from Karachi via Lahore where I had to change trains.162 It was impossible to find a place in the train. It was full and those who could get in did so by sheer force, often sneaking through windows if the doors were locked. I had to reach Calcutta on the date fixed for the meeting, and if I missed this train I could not arrive in time. I had almost given up hope of getting in. No one was willing to accept me, when a porter discovering my plight came to me and said, ‘Give me twelve annas and I’ll get you a seat.’ ‘Yes,’ said I, ‘you shall have twelve annas if you do procure me a seat.’ The young man went from carriage to ca
rriage entreating passengers but no one heeded him. As the train was about to start, some passengers said, ‘There is no room here, but you can shove him in here if you like. He will have to stand.’163 ‘Well?’ asked the young porter. I readily agreed, and he shoved me in bodily through the window. Thus I got in and the porter earned his twelve annas.
The night was a trial. The other passengers were sitting somehow. I stood two hours, holding the chain of the upper bunk. Meanwhile some of the passengers kept worrying me incessantly. ‘Why will you not sit down?’164 they asked. I tried to reason with them saying there was no room but they could not tolerate my standing, though they were lying full length on the upper bunks. They did not tire of worrying me neither did I tire of gently replying to them. This at last mollified them. Some of them asked me my name and, when I gave it they felt ashamed. They apologized and made room for me. Patience was thus rewarded.M11 I was dead tired, and my head was reeling. God sent help just when it was most needed.
In that way I somehow reached Delhi and thence165 Calcutta. The Maharaja of Cassimbazaar, the president of the Calcutta meeting, was my host.166 Just as in Karachi, here also there was unbounded enthusiasm.
The meeting was attended by several Englishmen. Before the 31st July the Government announced that indentured emigration from India was stopped.167
It was in 1894 that I drafted the first petition protesting against the system, and I had then hoped that this ‘semi-slavery’, as Sir W.W. Hunter used to call the system,168 would some day be brought to an end.
There were many who aided in the agitation which was started in 1894, but I cannot help saying that potential satyagraha hastened the end.M12
For further details of that agitation and of those who took part in it, I refer the reader to my Satyagraha in South Africa.
XII
THE STAIN OF INDIGO
Champaran is the land of King Janaka. Just as it abounds in mango groves, so used it to be full of indigo plantations until the year 1917.169 The Champaran tenant was bound by law to plant three out of every twenty parts of his land with indigo for his landlord. This system was known as the tinkathia170 system, as three kathas out of twenty (which make one acre) had to be planted with indigo.
I must confess that I did not then know even the name, much less the geographical position, of Champaran, and I had hardly any notion of indigo plantations. I had seen packets of indigo, but little dreamed that it was grown and manufactured in Champaran at great hardship to thousands of agriculturists.
Rajkumar Shukla171 was one of the agriculturists who had been under this harrow, and he was filled with a passion to wash away the stain of indigo for the thousands who were suffering as he had suffered.
This man caught hold of me at Lucknow, where I had gone for the Congress of 1916.172 ‘Vakil Babu will tell you everything about our distress,’173 he said, and urged me to go to Champaran. ‘Vakil Babu’ was none other than Babu Brajkishore Prasad,174 who became my esteemed co-worker in Champaran, and who is the soul of public work in Bihar. Rajkumar Shukla brought him to my tent. He was dressed in a black alpaca achkan and trousers. Brajkishore Babu failed then to make an impression on me. I took it that he must be some vakil exploiting the simple agriculturists. Having heard from him something of Champaran, I replied as was my wont: ‘I can give no opinion without seeing the conditions with my own eyes. You will please move the resolution in the Congress, but leave me free for the present.’ Rajkumar Shukla of course wanted some help from the Congress. Babu Brajkishore Prasad moved the resolution, expressing sympathy for the people of Champaran, and it was unanimously passed.175
Rajkumar Shukla was glad, but far from satisfied. He wanted me personally to visit Champaran and witness the miseries of the ryots there. I told him that I would include Champaran in the tour which I had contemplated and give it a day or two. ‘One day will be enough,’ said he, ‘and you will see things with your own eyes.’176
From Lucknow I went to Cawnpore.177 Rajkumar Shukla followed me there. ‘Champaran is very near here. Please give a day,’178 he insisted. ‘Pray excuse me this time. But I promise that I will come,’ said I, further committing myself.
I returned to the Ashram. The ubiquitous Rajkumar was there too. ‘Pray fix the day now,’ he said. ‘Well,’ said I, ‘I have to be in Calcutta on such and such a date,179 come and meet me then, and take me from there.’ I did not know where I was to go, what to do, what things to see.
Before I reached Bhupen Babu’s180 place in Calcutta, Rajkumar Shukla had gone and established himself there. Thus this ignorant, unsophisticated but resolute agriculturist captured me.
So early in 1917, we left Calcutta for Champaran, looking just like fellow-rustics.M1 I did not even know the train. He took me to it, and we travelled together, reaching Patna in the morning.181
This was my first visit to Patna. I had no friend or acquaintance with whom I could think of putting up. I had an idea that Rajkumar Shukla, simple agriculturist as he was, must have some influence in Patna. I had come to know him a little more on the journey, and on reaching Patna I had no illusions left concerning him. He was perfectly innocent of everything. The vakils that he had taken to be his friends were really nothing of the sort. Poor Rajkumar was more or less as a menial to them. Between such agriculturist clients and their vakils there is a gulf as wide as the Ganges in flood.
Rajkumar Shukla took me to Rajendra Babu’s place in Patna.182 Rajendra Babu had gone to Puri or some other place, I now forget which. There were one or two servants at the bungalow who paid us no attention.183 I had with me something to eat. I wanted dates which my companion procured for me from the bazaar.
There was strict untouchability in Bihar. I might not draw water at the well whilst the servants were using it, lest drops of water from my bucket might pollute them, the servants not knowing to what caste I belonged. Rajkumar directed me to the indoor latrine, the servant promptly directed me to the outdoor one. All this was far from surprising or irritating to me, for I was inured to such things. The servants were doing the duty, which they thought Rajendra Babu would wish them to do.184
These entertaining experiences enhanced my regard for Rajkumar Shukla, if they also enabled me to know him better. I saw now that Rajkumar Shukla could not guide me, and that I must take the reins in my own hands.M2
XIII
THE GENTLEM1 BIHARI
I knew Maulana Mazharul Haq185 in London when he was studying for the bar, and when I met him at the Bombay Congress in 1915—the year in which he was President of the Muslim League—he had renewed the acquaintance, and extended me an invitation to stay with him whenever I happened to go to Patna. I bethought myself of this invitation and sent him a note indicating the purpose of my visit. He immediately came in his car, and pressed me to accept his hospitality. I thanked him and requested him to guide me to my destination by the first available train, the railway guide being useless to an utter stranger like186 me. He had a talk with Rajkumar Shukla and suggested that I should first go to Muzaffarpur. There was a train for that place the same evening, and he sent me off by it.
Principal Kripalani187 was then in Muzaffarpur. I had known of him ever since my visit to Hyderabad.188 Dr. Choithram189 had told me of his great sacrifice, of his simple life, and of the Ashram that Dr. Choithram was running out of funds provided by Prof. Kripalani. He used to be a professor in the Government College, Muzaffarpur, and had just resigned the post when I went there. I had sent a telegram informing him of my arrival,190 and he met me at the station with a crowd of students, though the train reached there at midnight. He had no rooms of his own, and was staying with Professor Malkani191 who therefore virtually became my host.M2 It was an extraordinary thing in those days for a Government professor to harbour a man like me.
Professor Kripalani spoke to me about the desperate condition of Bihar, particularly of the Tirhut division192 and gave me an idea of the difficulty of my task. He had established very close contact with the Biharis, and had alrea
dy spoken to them about the mission that took me to Bihar.
In the morning a small group of vakils called on me. I still remember Ramnavmi Prasad193 among them, as his earnestness specially appealed to me.
‘It is not possible,’ he said, ‘for you to do the kind of work you have come for, if you stay here (meaning Prof. Malkani’s quarters).194 You must come and stay with one of us. Gaya Babu195 is a well-known vakil here. I have come on his behalf to invite you to stay with him. I confess we are all afraid of Government, but we shall render what help we can. Most of the things Rajkumar Shukla has told you are true. It is a pity our leaders are not here today. I have, however, wired to them both, Babu Brajkishore Prasad and Babu Rajendra Prasad.196 I expect them to arrive shortly, and they are sure to be able to give you all the information you want and to help you considerably. Pray come over to Gaya Babu’s place.’
This was a request that I could not resist, though I hesitated for fear of embarrassing Gaya Babu. But he put me at ease, and so I went over to stay with him. He and his people showered all their affection on me.
Brajkishorebabu now arrived from Darbhanga and Rajendra Babu from Puri. Brajkishorebabu was not the Babu Brajkishore Prasad I had met in Lucknow. He impressed me this time with his humility, simplicity, goodness and extraordinary faith, so characteristic of the Biharis, and my heart was joyous over it. The Bihar vakils’ regard for him was an agreeable surprise to me.
Soon I felt myself becoming bound to this circle of friends in lifelong friendship. Brajkishorebabu acquainted me with the facts of the case. He used to be in the habit of taking upM3 the cases of the poor tenants. There were two such cases pending when I went there. When he won any such case,M4 he consoled himself that he was doing something for these poor people.197 Not that he did not charge fees from these simple peasants.198 Lawyers labour under the belief that,M5 if they do not charge fees, they will have no wherewithal to run their households, and will not be able to render effective help to the poor people. The figures of the fees they charged and the199 standard of a barrister’s fees in Bengal and Bihar staggered me.