The Coronation Ceremony of 1911 and its shadow on the prison in the Andamans
As narrated in the previous chapter, the publication of Mr. Hotilal’s letter by The Bengali created a flutter in the official dovecotes. In the wake of that stir and excitement was created an atmosphere of sudden hope in the prison at Andamans. A thick rumour was abroad that all political prisoners, including myself, would be released in a month or two after the Coronation Durbar at Delhi to follow the King-Emperor’s Coronation in London. The date given was December 1911.
The hope of release
In the days of famine, thousands of starving population turn into beggars for food, and their minds alternate between hope and fear when com comes for distribution among them. Every one hopes that he shall have his share of the corn at the same time that he fears and trembles that the corn will be spent up by the time his turn comes to have his own share and, perhaps, he shall have to go without it, and a struggle ensues for securing one’s share before every one else. So was it with us in that prison since we had heard the news of that Durbar. The word most common in those days with us was “Jubilee was coming’, the inference being that either release or remittance of sentence was sure to come along with it The news soon spread all over the settlement and every prisoner’s face was bright with hope. Each prisoner was now in a flattering mood as he knew that if his number was to come in the list of prisoners recommended for release, he must no more be sulky with those with whom rested his recommendation or otherwise. For after all good conduct was the test, and to certify good conduct remained entirely in the hands of the jailor and other Officers associated with him in the management and supervision of the jail. So the prisoners were bent, in these days, on doing their work smoothly while the Officers were determined on exacting as much work from them as they could. If any prisoner demurred, the plea was put forward in the following words, “Brother, remember there are few days now for you to stay here. Your name and number are already being sent forward.” In this sanguine state of mind, the cry of Jubilee coming made the life of the prisoner full of joy for a month or two afterwards. Hope springs eternal in the human breast. Those who were transported for life and who had, therefore, no hope whatever of returning to their homes as free men, could expect release only if something impossible were to happen.
The Jubilee is coming
When any news of an impossible happening drifted on to us, the mind was attracted more by the chance of its turning true, than could be induced to discover its impassibility; and hope led to wishful thinking all over the place. Hence, almost every year, and, certainly every two or three years, “the Jubilee was coming”, and “release or remittance of sentence was a surety”-these would become the talk of the whole prison; and the poor, disappointed inmates, taken in by that rumour, experienced a sort of relief in their minds, till the rumour had proved altogether a hoax. This had gone on now for ever, and whenever it started again, prisoners still persisted in believing it, and if any one sought to disillusion them, if any one assured them that it was like the proverbial straw at which the drowning man caught, they became furious with him for thus damping their hopes.
One always gets angry with another who says that there is absolutely no hope of release from a danger or who contradicts a rumour leading to such a hope, even though in cooler moments of reflection he himself may have come to the same conclusion. That is a peculiar trait of human nature to which very few are exceptions. And I myself have passed through the same experience. When I was sentenced to twenty-five years’ transportation on the first charge in the High Court of Bombay, I was ninety-nine per-cent certain, that, if the second charge was proved against me, I would be sent to the gallows. And in all conscience, I was preparing myself in mind to face such a fate. And yet, when a visitor to me in the jail at Dongri drew the same inference, I became very angry and had lo control myself lest my anger might burst out in harsh words to him. I remember the occasion too well to forget it even now.
But the memory of that experience hardened my mind against entertaining any foolish hope of release on the occasion of the Durbar at Delhi. Other prisoners were too sanguine to disbelieve it. Most of them began marking time and planning for their journey homeward. They went the length of fixing the route by which they would go; and they thought out beforehand what they would do when they had reached their destination! But the wonder of it was that some of these were here on a term of seven, ten or fourteen years hard labour, of which they had not yet completed even one- half or two years at the most. I could never believe that these would get their discharge for anything in the world, when Government had put them there at such a huge expense and at considerable trouble to itself. These were dangerous men in its eyes and, I was convinced, that the prison-doors would never open for their release. All the same miracles do happen even in such cases as history tells us about them. Ireland, Italy and Russia had furnished instances of them. But it was ever wise never to count upon such miracles in individual and personal cases, though one had every right of hoping against all hope. Life becomes endurable and work a matter of course when one disabuses his mind of such exceptions. It was my constant advice to fellow-prisoners never to build on such foolish rumours and to prepare themselves always for what was inevitably in store for them. But nothing could conquer their irrepressible hope and their wishful thinking. Some were put out with me for my eternal doubt and pessimism. Others swore by the prophesy of Aravinda Ghosh. When Aravinda got his discharge while others with him were sentenced to long terms of hard labour in India or across the seas, he had addressed them from the prisoner’s dock in the following words: “Go, you young men go, you are sentenced today, but I assure you that you will come back free within three years from now.”
Aravinda’s vision of Krishna
The rumour then was that Aravinda Ghosh, as a prisoner on trial, had a vision of Krishna in the jail in which he was confined during the hearing of the case, and it was this vision which had emboldened him to make that prophesy. Naturally, these prisoners had put their implicit faith in it. If the prisoners from Calcutta caught in the Bomb Conspiracy Case were bound to be free, why not the prisoners from Agra and the Punjab who had spread sedition by their writing? And if all these were sure to be let off, why should the three Maharashtrians alone lag behind? Thus the logical chain was complete, based as it was on that great prophecy of Aravinda Ghosh. All will be free then-that was the firm conviction of them all. The question now remained was how to count these three years, from what date to what date. In whatever order of time we counted them, the reckoning did not fit in with the date of the Jubilee or the Coronation Durbar at Delhi. However with an amount of hairsplitting common to all logical disputants, somehow they made it according as they were anxious to interprete it. According to them the period of three years had definitely marked out the month of December-the Coronation Durbar Day-as the day of general amnesty and pardon, and. therefore, the day of our liberation. There was, as such, no end to our hope. We were to be free; we were to see the faces of our dear ones as fresh as they were when we were taken away from them. Two or three years would not make such a difference. We shall tell them the story of our prison-life in the freedom and happiness and love of our hearths and homes. What a pleasant dream it was! The men from Bengal were flush with it and they wanted their Maharashtrian friends to come to their homes and make a sojourn there! So also with the Punjabis who extended similar kind invitations to me. Everything was fixed for the journey, none thought of any hindrances in their way.
Of course, I was among the invitees. Men in my division of the jail flocked round me and talked to me with candour and affection. Every one came to me and accosted me, “Tatya, do please come with me; do please pay a visit to our side of the country.” Bengal and Punjab were equally enthusiastic in welcoming me. And, if I seemed indifferent or hopeless of my release, they tried their hardest to shake off my despair and indifference. Every one of them was deeply pained to realise the hardship of my imprisonment of fifty years to run in that jail. And then deep sympathy for me made them more happy over my own release than their own.
At last the blessed day came nearer. It was to dawn tomorrow. The news went abroad that orders had already been passed and received for our release on that day. Even the Officers believed that it was to happen accordingly. We leamt later that something was on the anvil. This was the eve before that day. We were all of us in a line for our evening meal. My political friends were sitting beside me. The Jamadar himself was in a jubilant mood for he was also hoping to be released along with us. The only item that had remained to be settled was by what train we were to leave from Calcutta for our respective homes. As we were thus in the very height of our hopes, one Mirza Khan came running up to me and, almost out of breath for the news, pressed my hand and told me, “Barrister Babu, you are let off.” This man was the worst of his kind among the prison-warders. The dirty canal through which Mr. Barrie’s palaver flowed on to us claimed him as its very own. There were three of them who were similar channels ofhis messages to us. They constituted the trident in the hands of the demi-god of Port Blair. It was this trident with which he always pierced our hearts in this prison. But today its sharp end had blunted. The Khan beamed with kindness upon me. These wretched minions are opportunists all. They are kind or cruel as occasion suits them. Tomorrow, all of us were to be free, were to leave the prison. What, then, was he to gain by being cruel to me? Perhaps as a free man I may be of help to him. Knowing me as a man of law, he would require my services to defend him as the accused in a future case of dacoity or similar crime. It may happen like that, who knows. So it was discreet now to be on good terms with me. At least it would cost him nothing to behave thus with me now. So the Khan pressed my hand and, in anticipation, felicitated me. And he made the news public to all the rest of them.
Bada Babu released “But who told you this”, I asked him with a smile. He said,“But why need any-one tell me this? Mr. Barrie himself has issued orders to assemble all the Jamadars in his office tomorrow. For the prisoners have to be arrayed and sent off to their respective places on the island and to be put on the boat that will take them home.” “But how do you say from that that I am included in that number?” The Khan replied, “I put a definite question about it to Mr. Barrie and he laughed.” Then it was on this slender thread of hope that he had built up this news. All the same, I must confess that it gladdened my heart to hear it. I also had my castles in the air. I shall go home; will meet my brother, and I will embrace him deeply. All released souls will wake up as from a bad dream and gather together like humming bees,-these were the musings I indulged in. And with a wave of joy it filled my whole being. I knew that it was only a dream and yet it brought to me peace and happiness. In the direst condition of overwhelming misfortune, what man is there that will not clutch at such a hope for relief and consolation? It does blunt the sharp edge of calamity that is ever at our breast.
The happy news made all of them fall into my arms and embrace me. Every one of them was eager to say, “Now, at least, you will take it as true. Now you are sure of it,” I shook my head and said, “No”, when the most enthusiastic and forward among them, Ram Hari by name, caught hold of my iron chain, and my breastplate with its marked number, and said, “Tomorrow, this plate will be broken, and the chain shall fall to pieces.” I again answered, “It may be true about you, but not so about me. Yet your release will gladden my heart as much as mine. For it will mean much more good tiding for my country.” Damped by my answer, the prisoner pulled the chain and the plate with such loving passion and vehemence that the plate fell off from my neck, and it slightly scratched my neck as well. But he took it as a good omen, and the news went like fire all over the prison. This made assurance doubly sure for those who were locked in other divisions of that place. I alone expostulated with him that this good omen was to cost me heavily in the future for it was sure to bring on me added punishment and suffering. And at last my forecast proved truer than the much announced prophesy of Aravinda Ghosh.
The day dawns
When tomorrow came all of us were called near the main gate of our prison. But myself and a young man from Bengal were not so called to begin with. The assembly stood there anxious to know their fate. They expected every moment that the gate would open and they will hear either about their release, or, at least, some mitigation in their term of imprisonment. As they were looking about them, they saw the Superintendent coming up towards them. Then followed Mr. Barrie in full uniform as the custodian of the place. They called the prisoners one by one; my name was not among them. Fortunately for me, my brother’s name was in the list. He was the last to be called out. The Officers announced that each of the prisoners whose names were called had a remission of one month in a year in his total period of sentence. Accordingly, I was entitled, at the minimum, to fifty monthsI mitigation. But I was told that I had neither release nor remission.
Even ordinary prisoners on simple imprisonment were given that remission but not I. That day was celebrated for us by rice and potatoes boiled together for our feast. And I. of course, had my share in that feast. So the Coronation Day of King George V set over me without release or remission. It brought us potatoes and rice, and it brought for me, in addition, punishment for the badge that had fallen from my neck. I must thank Mr. Barrie specially for his address to me that evening in which he said, “I am very sorry, indeed, that the man with the longest punishment in this jail should not get even a day’s remission on this happy day. But I must also remind you that a prisoner like you, who had not felt the slightest compunction of soul for the horrible deeds he had done, did not deserve that mercy at the hands of government. While others are mere political prisoners, you come under the category of a ‘common murderer.’ You cannot claim, therefore, the concession given to other prisoners on this great occasion.” I replied, “I knew this before you had told me. I often told them that I was regarded as a dangerous man and an anarchist, and I expected no release at any time from the Government responsible for my incarceration. I am not a political prisoner, I am not an ordinary prisoner either; so you will kindly take away from me this dish of potato and rice, which is not my due because I am an anarchist and as you put it ‘a common murderer’ at that.”
The Coronation Ceremony of 1911 had ended without release for a single political prisoner and without even a day’s remission for me. In the morning when they had been brought out of their cells, they expected that they would not be returning to them in the evening. That before sunset they were bound to be free and to start on their way to India, or to wait somewhere for the boat to take them to India. But they had to bury themselves once more into their solitary cells as before. Of all the occasions that I recall in my prison-life, when the darkest shadow of despair, fear and melancholy had overcast the faces of the inmates, this was perhaps the worst of its kind. Although I expected nothing from this day, I could not escape the contagion of despair that had infected the rest of my fellow-prisoners. What I had foretold lay confined within the four walls of my cell. Outside utter darkness prevailed all about the prison-barracks. The atmosphere of despondence and gloom prevailed all around me.
The hope of individual freedom had proved a dupe. But what of my country as a whole? I also tried my best to get information about the death-trap of revolutionary struggle which had gone on for the last four or five years. Had India got some additional rights m commemoration of that Coronation Durbar? That was what I was most anxious to know. The few prisoners who were being sent out for work, and who were given work in different parts ofthe if land settlement, were always ordered in if they fell ill instead of being treated in a hospital outside its walls. When they returned with their bedding for treatment in the prison-hospital, they always brought to us some news of the outside world. They often got newspapers to read in that world and whenever a political prisoner had special news for his fellow-prisoners inside the jail, he contrived to Call ill and return to the prison-hospital. While all of us were so anxious for news from our country, one such prisoner suddenly returned to the hospital in the jail. It was not difficult for us to conjecture what sort of illness it was. The prisoner, we concluded, had some important news to give us and hence the illness. Next day I came as usual for my bath on the reservoir at about ten o’clock when a prisoner in the chawl across shouted out to me from the top-window of his cell and called out my name. I turned round and saw him looking at me from the back-yard ofhis own chawl. He was in the second floor room of that tenement. As soon as our eyes had met he told me that the
Partition of Bengal had gone
I could not believe it. And I questioned him. Partition of Bengal? The settled fact is unsettled? He smiled and answered yes. I told him it might be news as faked as that of our release, and perhaps he was indulging in a guess as foolish as that. My friend assured me that it was not so, and that the news was authentic news. I left my bath there, and contrived to circulate the good news through all the seven divisions of the Silver Jail. Soon after, we learnt that the Capital of India was transferred from Calcutta to Delhi. But this news was not so important after all. The restoration of united Bengal had behind it an orientation of policy fraught with wider political consequences than the removal of capital to Delhi. It was the triumph of an agitation which filled our hearts with deep satisfaction. And in that joy we forgot our personal disappointment.
If the political question affecting our country was to be solved in such a successful manner, it did not matter in the least to any of us if we were within the prison or without it.
No matter if we are here
These words fell from the lips of every young prisoner when he had heard that good tidings. The partition or non-partition of Bengal was in itself a minor matter compared with the triumph of the principle involved. The deeper satisfaction came from the fact that we had made the Government bend down to our wishes. Further, it discovered to us the new method of achieving the goal. It created in us a fresh hope and instilled in us a new faith that what we would we could. Some one asked me if I was content with the single achievement. Will not this lay to rest our revolutionary campaign? I answered, “No, this achievement will inspire confidence; it will give a philip to our movement as the surest method of winning freedom for India. The people are bound to feel that the revolutionary programme that annulled the partition of Bengal would also fructify in bringing them Swaraj.” He who had experienced that quinine was the surest remedy against malaria, would not fail to use it against malarial fever whenever he was attacked by it.
Ujjain or Delhi
I was not in the least sorry that the capital of India was removed to Delhi. For whenever we discussed among ourselves which should be the future capital of India, I had always expressed my preference for Ujjain. But I never failed to add that though from the standpoint of history, culture, industry and art as also from its geographical position and military importance, I regarded that city as the best- fitted in the whole of India to be its capital, I had no objection to Delhi taking that place, and I felt that the probability was more in favour of Delhi than Ujjain. According to my conjecture and forecast, Delhi had become the capital of India, and I felt no regret for the fact. Of course, personally it would have pleased me to see Ujjain as the capital of India.