Suicide, Mental derangement, arrests, the second and the third strike
In the first six months of my sentence in the Andamans, I was treated as a prisoner in solitary confinement. As a matter of fact almost all other prisoners were sent outside the prison for their work after they had finished their term of six months of simple or hard labour in the prison itself But at the time that they were taken out. I was released from my lonely cell. Even then I was not allowed to mix with other men, but only made to sit in the gallery and opposite the door of my own room all by myself. Other political prisoners were free to talk and move w ith neighbours in their own block and those in common work With them. I alone was kept apart and all alone by myself. A special watch was kept on me to prevent me from any intercourse with other people of my class. For the whole day I sat in the gallery and in front of my room busy in making coils of rope-my daily labour at the time. With the evening I was sent back to my own room and locked for the night. Years went on in this round of dull routine. The only exception of it being my hours of dinner, morning and evening. For two hours in the day. I could see human feces and exchange words with them.
During all this period, I had kept myself rigidly to the timetable I had chalked out in the Thana Jail. My object ever had been, while working for public good, to adhere strictly to the rules of prison-life and thus, by good conduct, shorten the period that would entitle me to be sent for work outside the prison-walls. I felt that if I was so taken out I would be better able to do some propaganda work in these islands as also plan for my release from the Silver Jail. Hence, though I did my best to improve the conditions of our life inside the prison and to change its regulations, I ever took care not to come in the clutches of law and to give no occasion for the Officers lo frame any charges against me. The one excuse that these Officers always found for stopping the prisoners from going out was that these had refused to do their normal work in the prison itself. Hence I was extremely cautious that none of them had any chance to make that accusation against me. What little I could do for my fellow-prisoners in the prison itself, I would have multiplied a hundred-fold if I were free to help them from the outside. Again, that would have considerably facilitated my freedom from the settlement itself. Hence, I patiently followed the course I had chalked out for myself and was biding my time to get out of this prison.
The prisoners, who got the first opportunity to work outside, were all convicts sentenced from three to five years’ hard labour. None with transportation for life went out with them. And they had to do as much hard work in the settlement as they had to do inside. I would still induce them to remain outside, for their remaining outside would pave the way for others to follow them and, in course of time, as their number would increase, their propaganda outside would grow with them in strength and volume. So I would beseech them to give no opportunity to the authorities to send them back to their own cells. Agreeing with me, they had all remained outside till the day of the Coronation in December 191I. After the first strike and after the Coronation, some four more were let out from this prison, and my brother and myself were not in that number. The letting off of these four prisoners had, at least, this good side to it that political prisoners could be so let off. And I hoped that I could take full advantage of the precedent. Hence, I worked on with hope and courage waiting for the day when I could be as free as the three or four who had gone ahead. But news began to filter in that these political prisoners had a very hard time of it even outside the prison-walls. They were given such heart-breaking work to do that they preferred to it the swallowing of some drug that would bring on illness and get them back to the kind of life they had left behind. We always think of medicines that cure a malady. They thought of potions which would bring them one. Strange, indeed, is the psychology of prison-life!
Give me medicine for fever and diarrhea!
When any prisoner asked this favour of another in a suppressed voice and with a dejected mind, it did not imply thathedemandedmixture to drive out these maladies but to induce them into him. A man, it was reported, gets high fever if he swallows the paste of ‘Kanheri’ roots; another told me that the easiest way to get loose continuous motions, with blood in them, was to drink the paste of red berries called “Gunja.” If a thread soaked in some liquid-I forgot which-were sewn into a wound, another said, the wound remained raw and open for six months on end. This was the talk of the prison. And if I questioned the authenticity of these reports, they told me that the medicines were tried and found effective for these purposes. Prisoners, put on the oil-mill or sent out to cut down the jungles or detailed to pick oakum and weave the threads into a coil of rope, were so much done up with the work and felt such a terror for it, that they preferred anything else to going on with it. Hence, they would resort to these dangerous shrubs, roots and berries or would make a wound to their feet, with the scythe they carried, to fall ill and come back into the hospital. They would sow a thread into that wound to keep it from healing. They would prick their throats with a needle and to convince the physician in charge that the blood had come out with their spit and from their chest. Any of these tricks they employed for purposes of escape from the toil under which they were being ground down in their prison-life.
Others feigned madness, and, to prove that they were really mad, would besmear their faces with urine and excreta, and, occasionally ate them also.
To convince the doctor and obtain his certificate to be transferred to the hospital was the one aim of these self-imposed tortures. I have seen such specimens in the prison with my own eyes; and travellers spending a week in the Andaman Settlement have testified what I have stated here. These prisoners would dupe the doctor endlessly with these methods, and it became hard for him, at times, to mark the genuine from the counterfeit. These criminals were hauled up before the Magistrate and were caned for their dishonest practices, after they had been cured and released from the hospital. The offence was obvious, the practice objectionable; but it cannot be gainsaid that the prisoners were forced into these tricks of having 104 to 105 degrees of high fever or getting continuous blood-stained stools, and suffering pain in the stomach, by the horrors of the prison-life to which they were doomed for all their crimes. Some of them were seasoned convicts and not new-comers, and still they did it, which only shows how hard the work must have been. If dacoits, robbers and other confirmed and dangerous criminals found it beyond their endurance to go through the hard labour, it is easy to imagine how the political prisoners must have felt about it. I need not describe their wretched condition and the horror of their lot in the Silver Jail of the Andamans.
Disease was better than this labour
I quote here specific instances of such prisoners and describe the tortures of their lives in their own words. One such political prisoner was Babu Upendra Nath Banerji. He says about himself: “Most of the prisoners that had come before me in this jail from the Indian Mutiny of 1857 onwards, on transportation for life, did not return alive to India. I learnt this fact and realised the horror of it while I was myself passing through the sentence of hard labour. I often felt that I should take a rope and put an end to my life forthwith to end all my troubles. But I could not summon up courage to do it, I kept on crushing the coconut pieces for oil by going round the grinding mill patiently and without any complaint. One diy, working from morn till eve, I felt my body stark and stiff like a plank of wood; I found my palms blustered over; I saw blood trickling from the cracks in my hand; and yet, at the end of it, the yield had not come to the regular quantity of 30 lbs. a day. I felt I was swooning; I heard abuses hurled at me by the petty officer in charge; I felt them like whips against my heart, and, at last, I was dragged before the jailor. He abused me downright with the choicest kng and threatened me with caning. I was brought back from the office and seated in my place for the evening meal. Grief, pain and insult choked my throat and I could not awallow a morsel of the food put before me. A Hindu petty officer took pity upon me, and whispered to the cook to serve me more rice. He said, “The Babu is stricken with grief. He cannot eat his bread, give him some more rice,” This made me cry aloud and burst into a loud wail. I tried to control myself and stop this exhibition. A blow with a stick would have been borne at that time better than these words of pity and compassion from the mouth of my fellow-prisoner -the Hindu petty officer.”
Better die than suffer insult
A young man named Indu Bhushan Roy was convicted of guilt in the Maniktola Bomb Case and sentenced to ten years’ rigorous imprisonment in the Andamans. He had also to suffer from hard labour on the ‘Kolu’ and had his full taste of similar soul-killing experience. He was one of those who were sent out to work. But he found the work outside more fatiguing and humiliating than the labour inside. He had thought he would get some concessions, but, instead, he found that he had more rigorous work to do in the settlement. If a prisoner outside happened to fall ill, he was sent to a hospital relatively better than the hospital in the jail. But if a political prisoner became sick, he was punished all the more for that sickness. For if he had fever or suffered from loose stools, be was made to walk the distance of four miles, carrying his own bed, to the jail, and was, instantly, locked up in his own cell. Indu Bhushan was fed up with it and returned to the jail of his own accord. Chains were put on his arms and hands, and he was marched on to his old residence; but he refused to go back to his work in the settlement. He was punished for this recalcitrance. No sooner was Indu put in his cell than Mr. Barrie came on the scene, he said, “Well, you have returned! You think, perhaps, that by coming here you will be spared all work. Nothing of the kind.” And turning to the Jamadar he ordered, “Put him on the oil-mill, and at once.” Indu Bhushan was immediately marched off to work on the ‘Kolu.’ He was simply disgusted with his own life. I tried my hardest to help him bear up. I told him to think of me who had fifty years’ burden on him to live in this jail, whereas he had to live there only for ten years, While he was taking his quota of oil to the Jamadar, I again, met him and could address only a few words of solace. He said, “No, I cannot bear it; better death than life in such disgrace.” That was his constant refrain. I argued with him, I entreated him, I tried to soften him, I ended, “For the sake of our country. Oh my brother, we have to sacrifice our self, our life, and even our honour at times . We owe this duty to her at any cost. You are very young, you are not even twenty-five, of the same age it myself. You have better hopes to be free and alive than I have. So, cheer up, suffer and live, to that, when free, you will serve the country as before.” Then words were exchanged in a hurry and on the sly. Two or four days passed off. Every evening I saw Indu Bhuthan returning from the ‘Kolu’, dead tired, with drops of perspiration on his face, the chaff of the coconut clinging like saw-dust to his body from top to toe, chains clanging on his feet, a weight of about 30 lbs. on his head, and a sack of chaff on his shoulders. I saw him coming up bent down under this weight, and staggering to the place. All of us were in the same plight. One fine morning as our doors were unlocked for the day and we were all coming out, a warden approached us and, requesting not to disclose his name, broke the news that
Indu had hanged himself last night.
I was astounded by the news. Only yesterday evening I had seen him a man in the prime of youth before he went into his cell for the night. I had exchanged a few words with him. And in the morning he was found dangling from the top window, hanged by a noote made of his torn clothes! His neck broken, his tongue lolling out, his feet dangling, his throat strangulated by a cord whose one end lay tied to the bar of the window, and corpse suspending from it in the mid-air. The young man must have found life too burdensome, for the lots of his self-respect, to bear and to endure. Dark deep shadow had spread over the whole building. Once in two months we had found such incident happening. But Indu Bhushan was the first political prisoner of his kind to put an end to bit life thus. I was saying to myself, “Who knows, one day your fate will he the same as his. He died tired of his ten years’ sentence- and you-you will tire of your fifty years and quit the stage like him.”
But Mr, Barrie gave me no time for these musing, for such melancholy brooding. For he announced within three hours, not that Indu Bhushan had tired of life and committed suicide but that he had done himself to death in a fit of insanity and personal quarrel. Indu had tied a slip of paper round his neck which Mr. Barrie had cleverly removed and concealed. That was what the prisoners present were saying of him. He tutored the Jamadar, the warder and the petty officer at the postmortem upon Indu’s body to depose that they saw nothing to conclude that the deceased was tired of his life; or that the work in that priion was too much for him. Before the Officers, brought together for the post-mortem, the political prisoners on the side of Mr. Barrie supported his statement and the immediate custodians of the dead man swore that he had hanged himself in a fit of insanity. But we, on the other side, sent message after message to assure the Officers that the deceased was not an insane person, that he did not commit suicide on a sudden, that he had done it deliberately and as the result of the hardships and insults he had to bear in that prison. The Officers were requested to call independent evidence to prove the truth of our deposition, and we suggested for that purpose the name of a person whom Mr. Barrie could not browbeat. The Officers accepted our offer and the witness gave his evidence undeterred by the circumstances around him. He was one of the editors of an Allahabad Newspaper ‘Swaraj’ who were all sentenced for sedition and came here as political prisoners. He proved to the hilt that the deceased was a victim of the tortures he had to suffer in the prison presided over by Mr. Barrie. These had created in him a disgust for life and he had ended it by suicide. I had told all of them the conversation I had with Indu Bhushan. And I wanted myself to give evidence. But Mr. Barrie would not call me. In the evening Mr. Barrie came to me and told me whining, “Indu Bhushan has left a note behind in which he says plainly that he had ended his life as the result of some personal quarrel” I turned round upon Mr. Barrie and asked him, “Why did you not produce that note?” “Why did you not put in this note as evidence in your favour? It would have supported you much better than mere argument and logic,” I continued to Mr. Barrie. I continued, “Please show me the note even now. I know the conversation Indu had with me only two or three days previous to this happening. I know what he had said to other prisoners in the same trying circumstances. He had told me and them that he had no desire to live for ten years in such hard conditions. He had said so several times and yet you dare say that he committed suicide in a fit of insanity. Granting that it was so, the question remains how at all a man strong and young like him could suddenly go mad. He was an arch-conspirator; he had faced treachery, imprisonment, transportation for life, hardships of prison- life and at last death by hanging with calmness and indifference and with a smile on his face. He had never shown temper in hot discussion with his friends, and had not given even the slightest indication of an unbalanced mind. Political prisoners are accustomed to such discussions and to sharp difference of opinion among themselves, and yet none of them has shown such a sign of weakness. Why then should these affect the mind of Indu Bhushan? Indu Bhushan was a man of strong mind. What had made his mind so weak now? What was the cause of it? ft could be no other than the harsh treatment that he received in this prison. He was treated here harshly; therefore, he chose to work outside; there also he had to past through the same kind of torture and humiliation. He returned here sick and woe-begone. You put him in his cell and straightaway ordered him to work on the oil-mill. All this had contributed to his weakness. He openly said that he was tired of his life and would put an end to it. That is why he hanged himself. It was no case of suicide through insanity as you put it. If he has really written what you say, then there must be some reason for his insanity.” I talked so to Mr. Barrie. Mr. Barrie bore deep grudge against me chiefly for this plain-speaking. But even those, who flattered Mr. Barrie then and deposed that Indu Bhushan killed himself in a fit of insanity, say openly in the history of their prison- life, now that the circumstances had changed entirely, that the cause ofhis death was no other than the very hard conditions of jail-life in the Andamans. Thanks to them for they tell the truth at long last. For many continue to tell lies because they had told them once. Rare arc the men who confess the truth that they had deliberately hidden before.
Among the books found in Indu Bhushan’s room was one on theosophy. And it gave Mr. Barrie an easy brush to white-wash the case. He succeeded in impressing upon his superiors from the Chief Commissioner downwards that it was theosophy that had softened his brain. Theosophy led its devotee to practice Yoga and Yoga, with its breathing exercises and other conditions of the body, had a bad effect upon the brain! We do not know if he was able to convince the Government of India by this kind of logic. But it is a fact that the Government showed no solicitude for investigating into the case, though Indu’s elder brother fought hard for such an enquiry. Indu had hanged himself and the shock of it made the survivors count their days in this prison. They were afraid that theirs would be the next turn to follow him in the same way. Mr. Barrie became more and more impudent. He began to boast publicly that the incident had not at all affected his career and influence. On the other hand he had begun to send reports that prisoners in the Andamans were never before so well-cared for, and that they had nothing to complain about it; but just at that moment an incident happened to upset his whole story. Poor Indu could not narrate his own story. But the man about whom we are writing now has given a record of his own impressions.
Ullaskar Dutt
Ullaskar Dutt was sentenced to long imprisonment in the jail at the Andamans. He was released from it after thirteen years of hard labour and he wrote out from memory an account of his experiences during that period. Let us, therefore, hear from his own mouth the story of his prison-life. He was convicted as a conspirator in the Manik Tola Bomb Case and the Magistrate who sentenced him praised the convict in the following words, “Ullaskar is one of the noblest boys I have ever seen, but he is too idealistic.’ What havoc his incarceration had made upon his body and mind is clear from his own version about it. He says, “I was yoked to the oil-mill similar to those we see in India for crushing oil from coconut and sesame. It is the bullock that is made to run the grinding mill in India. And even the bullock cannot turn out more than I6 lbs.
of mustard seed oil during the day. In the Andaman jail men were yoked to the handle of the turning wheel instead of bullocks, and it was imposed upon them to yield by their hard day’s work 80 lbs. of coconut oil! Three prisoners were yoked to the handle of one mill. And they had to work continuously from morning to evening with a brief interval for their bath and morning meal. The interval actually given us came to no more than a few minutes. We were made to run round the oil-mill unlike the beast which could plod on slowly. We had the fear in our hearts that, otherwise, we shall not be completing our daily quota of oil. If any-one of us was found to slacken his pace, the Jamadar was in attendance to be labour him with his big stick. If that bludgeoning did not hasten the pace, there was another way of compelling him to do so. He was tied hand and foot to the handle ofthe turning wheel and others were ordered to run at full speed. Then the poor man was dragged along the ground like a man tied to the chariot wheel. His body was scratched all over and blood came out from it. His head was knocked on the floor and was bruised. I have seen with my own eyes the effect of this mode of getting work done. What man can make of man? These words ofthe poet escaped my lips after watching the process and its torture. When I came back in my cell in the evening, I found myself completely washed out by the process. I was not sure that I would be alive the following morning to continue that harrowing work. Yet I remained alive and did the work all right during the day. We all used to say about it, that we are fated to do that work and we must pay the price! All the prisoners working with us were, however, released from it in six months and sent to work outside. Other batches came in, worked on it for the fixed period and were sent out like their predecessors. But myself and other political prisoners were tied down to the same sweating toil. For years together it went on like this without respite and without change of work. At last a day came when I was ordered abroad. But the change was no better than from the frying pan into the fire. For I was sent to work in a district in a factory of bricks. I had to run for the whole day, to and fro, carrying bricks that were wet and not baked yet in fire. This work was exhausting enough for an ordinary labourer. And he was given a daily quantity of milk as an inducement to it. But the poor prisoner hardly got that milk to drink when the petty officer or the tindal would pounce upon his plate and empty it down his own throat. I got my share of milk also and I at once drank it without looking anywhere about me. A few days after, the tindal was in fury against me for not offering him the ’naivedya’. He changed me on a labour which was not entitled to milk. Later on he gave me the hardest work to do on the settlement. I had to climb up a steep ascent, draw two buckets of water out of a well, tie them at both ends of a pole, and carry the buckets with the pole on my shoulders to the bungalow of an Officer. The weight of the buckets and water came to a maund, the ascent to the hill was steep and every moment there was the danger of my foot slipping on it, and myself falling down into the valley below. The work had to be done for the whole day, going up and down the steep climb. I used to be dead tired at the end of the day though I carried on for many days. At last I was fed up with it and refused to do it any longer. A charge of disobedience and of shirking work was framed against me. The Magistrate tried his best to persuade me; he asked me to rest for a few days in the hospital and begin again, but I had made up my mind against it. We, political prisoners, who do what we will to conform to the rules of the prison and the settlement, were shown no consideration by the jail authorities. Why should we then bend down to their wishes? The more we toiled, the more they made us toil. Let them do their worst to our bodies, let us, at least, keep the soul free. They may rule over my body, but I am master of my soul. I shall not, of myself, enslave my body to them. I was given three months’ additional sentence of hard labour, and I was sent back to be locked up again in my cell. The same Silver Jail, the same Mr. Barrie standing near the gate! As soon as he saw me, he roared, “This is not an open field, beware, this is a prison- house. If you go against its discipline, I will thrash you with my cane. I will give you thirty stripes of it, each of which will go deep into your flesh.” I answered, “You may cut my body to pieces. I am no longer going to work here, for I think that to work according to your orders is a crime against my conscience.” Instantly, Mr. Barrie ordered that chains should be put upon my hands, and I should be suspended by them in my own cell for a week continuously. All of a sudden I saw a strange scene before me. I imagined, now I say that I imagined, though it was at the time as real as the body I touch, that Mr. Barrie, my jailor, said to me that I had insulted him. And in order to wipe out the insult he had challenged me to a duel with him.
I will fight you
He asked me to choose one who would fight for me. Mr. Savarkar, he added, will take your side. And he telephoned to Savarkar accordingly. A form thinner than Savarkar came up before me. The jailor asked him if he would fight in a duel on my behalf. Mr. Savarkar seemed to agree. Instantly, Mr. Barrie gave him a gauntlet to throw down and a sword to handle. I watched the duel between the two.
A duel between Savarkar and Barrie.
The duel was keenly fought on either side. At last our side had won. Mr. Savarkar had beaten Mr. Barrie, and Mr. Barrie’s countenance had fallen. I was in an ecstasy of joy and I wanted to clap……… Suddenly I came to myself, and the vision had gone. I was in my room in manacles and hanging down with my hands tied up to the top of my cell. I felt I would have fever on. I reclined as I could against the wall. The rays of the sun were falling hot upon my body. The temperature had gone up, the fever had flared. I passed into unconsciousness and saw in that state a person putting a phial of poison to my lips and forcing it down my throat. In came the doctor; I was shivering with cold and the temperature had risen. I was tossing restlessly with the manacles on. Twice before this I had fever on and I had requested the authorities to take off the handcuffs, but to no purpose. Today the doctor had them removed at once. I fainted and passed into fits of convulsion.
It was noon then …?
We had all known that Ullaskar Dutt had been put in chains, but we had no knowledge whatever, at that time, as was later on described in his own account of it. that his mind had gone so weak as to see the hallucination that he has recorded in that narrative or that he was burning with such high fever as to pass into delirium. We came and stood in front of his room when we heard a piercing cry and the confusion that followed …
It shocked our heart. It was a usual occurrence in this prison, and the consequences were ever the same. That was the reason of the fright. Five or six petty officers were found ever, in such scene, to sit firmly on the chest of the poor rowdy prisoner locked up in his room, thrash him thoroughly and then run away. And then the cry of helplessness resounded through the whole block of that building. That was our usual experience. Hence we feared that Ullas was, perhaps, meted out the same treatment. The slogan among us about it was ’to make one straight’.
Mr. Barrie and his myrmidons used to say openly that if they were “to make straight” a prisoner or two of these political prisoners, everything would be calm and quiet and normal in the jail they ruled. I asked the warder whose cry it was that I had heard, and what all this noise about was. He said he did not know. Heartrending cries, one after another, had filled the whole atmosphere. I saw some of them dragging a man from block No. 5. There were ten of them trying to lift him up and carrying him to the hospital. The cry was coming from him. He cried, he fell on the ground, they were all in an uproar! I saw this from a distance when the warder came running to me and whispered that
Ullaskar had gone insane!
Yes! Burning in the hot sun with fever of 107 degrees, manacled and tied up, what else could happen to him than the loss ofhis brain? The brain and the body, which had been both outraged by excessive pressure upon them, had suddenly gone to pieces. Already he was so weakened in mind that he would easily pass into delirium tremens. He saw hallucinations and visions. The brain was out of gear and the body was out of joint. The latter had repeated fits and convulsions, and ten persons could not control it. The doctor somehow managed to take him to the hospital. Ullaskar was a young man full of laughter and mirth. He would crack jokes and make fun while hearing in court the sentence of death passed upon him. The spirit of humour did not forsake him even in his present state of delirium. The whole night he sent piercing cries of pain that rent the whole building around him. At the same time, like a ventriloquist, he filled the atmosphere with the sounds and notes of all sorts of birds whose chirping music he had heard before and would burst into laughter.
We had no sleep that night
If a young man of this jovial mood, ever smiling, ever witty, one whom not the sentence of death even could repress, the fearless Ullaskar, could go mad, then what of us who were passing through a similar ordeal of prison-life? How long could our nerves stand the strain? Such thoughts passed through our minds that night, especially of those who were under life-sentence, and eveiy cry from the hospital that fell upon our ears made us fear and tremble. We were hoping against hope, however, that other Officers in the jail would yet look after him, and nurse him back into sanity and health. The morning came, and what did we find? We found that the cries had grown more frequent and harsher in sound. Ama, Ama - mother, mother-that was the sound we heard repeatedly. It wrung our hearts and deafened our ears. What was really the matter? None would tell us. Some said, they were giving him shocks from an electric battery to discover if he was really mad or was only feigning madness. I thought it might be so, but I could not believe it till I had seen with my own eyes. And now, I will relate it to you as Ullaskar himself has written about it in his own narrative.
An electric battery
“Even in this semi-conscious state of mind and under severe pain of the body, I could clearly feel that the medical Superintendent had played his electric battery upon me, the shocks of which it was impossible for me to stand. The electric current went through my whole body like the force of lightening. Every nerve, fibre and muscle in it seemed to be torn by it. The demon seemed to possess it. And I uttered words such as had never passed my lips before. I roared as I had never done before, and suddenly I relapsed into unconsciousness. I was in this state of unconsciousness for three continuous days and nights. And my friends told me about it when I awoke from it”
We, his friends, had felt that Ullas had passed away. The cries I had heard were cries that he uttered when the battery was applied to him. Why was he given those shocks! Was that a remedy for his fever or for his delirium!
When alter eight or ten days he had somewhat recovered his senses, he began to hear his relatives calling out to him full of pity and sorrow. Their cries, he felt, were appealing to him. He concluded from them that he was the cause of all their troubles, of all their grief. What a wretched being he was, a disgrace to his family, a thorn in their sides, a blot on their fair name! Overwhelmed with sorrow and repentance, he tore a garment upon his body. Out of its shreds he made a rope, and in the rear window of his lock-up. he attached the rope and put its noose round his neck, as so many before him had done and expired.
Trying to hang himself
The watch and ward man detected him in time. Ullas relieved the knot and came down. That saved his life. The Superintendent, who had used the battery, was on leave and another hud taken his place, lie was known to be a fair-minded man. Next day when he saw the shreds of the torn garment, he spoke to Ullas words that deprecated the act but were full of sympathy for him. He said to Ullas, ‘Though I am an Englishman and a Government servant here, and though our interests differ, and I cannot approve the deeds of you, revolutionaries, allow me to say this to you. believing as I do, that you did all for the freedom of your country and as your duty to her, that you need not blame yourself for them or censure your own conduct. You are yet very young; you will go back to your own country after serving your full term here; then why go in for such a cowardly act. why hang yourself ? I know full well the source of all your troubles and your persecution in this jail. Excessive hard labour has undermined your constitution. But I alone cannot help you out of it. For as a government servant I cannot countermand the orders of a superior authority which enforces such hard labour upon you. I must abide by these orders. But if you feel it a relief and if you will not object to it, I will arrange to remove you from here to the mental hospital.”
To the Lunatic Asylum
And Ullas at once agreed to the proposal. He was then removed to that hospital. He had his fits, his convulsions, his lock-jaws in that hospital, though he was much better there, both physically and mentally, than in the place he had left behind. When he, occasionally, recovered his senses, he felt happy that he was free from the tortures of jail-life. He stayed in the lunatic asylum for a total period of 12 to 14 years. After a short stay in the Andamans he was removed to Madras and he got his discharge from there after a period of fourteen years.
Four days after I had heard those heart-rending cries reaching our ears from Ullas’s cell that afternoon, Mr. Barrie came to have a talk with me. It was a rule with me never to talk with an Officer myself. They came to talk to me and I never hesitated to be frank in my opinions when I talked to them. Barrie knew this full well and, when anything extraordinary had happened in the jail, he came to me to know what I thought of it. That day he came to me full of smiles. Mr. Barrie was so wicked of heart that his geniality even could not be free from taint.
He was cruel even In his geniality
As soon as he saw me he began, “Well, when are you going to be mad?” I retorted with anger, “After you, surely.” Then he turned to the story of Ullas. I at once reminded him, “You had said about Indu Bhushan, you remember, that he had hanged himself because he was mad and not because he hod suffered from excessive hard labour in this jail? And, then, I had asked you what was the cause of his madness. Why, then, Ullas had gone mad? Can you give me the reason for it? Dare you say. now, that it was anything else than the sufferings in this prison-life ? Here they have no hope, no future to look to and no relief in their present state. Day and night they are ground down with labour, day and night they suffer insult and humiliation from you and your creatures. How can they bear it? What wonder that they are off their brains? It is unbearable suffering that brings on insanity and it is insanity that ends in suicide. Ullas and his life are standing testimonials to this fact and you cannot deny it. You manacled him, you kept him hanging for eight days in his cell, he went into fits and loud wailing. That took him to the hospital and that brought him to the stage of madness and he attempted suicide.” At once Mr. Barrie changed his front, and said, “But who told you that Ullas is mad? He only pretends madness.”
A Pretence!
I answered, “Then let us see him and we shall decide for ourselves.” He retorted, “Do you want to suggest that I am lying? I say that Ullas is not mad and he pretends madness in order to escape work.” I replied, “Then I must say that if Ullas is not mad, then he who says so is mad. Do treat us fairly henceforth, treat us as political prisoners, or at least, as ordinary prisoners. Do end this suffering. Else we shall have no other way out of it but strike. Not that we shall always win against you; entrenched as you are behind power and authority, the fight is bound to go against us. But we shall have done our best to expose injustice and defend our honour. And that is a great satisfaction.”
For eight months after this Mr. Barrie kept on reiterating that Ullas was not mad but had feigned madness. If there were a large number of prisoners in this jail capable of feigning equal madness, Mr. Barrie’s power to distinguish the true from the false would have been blunted long, long ago. The fount of sympathy had already been dried up. But Mr. Barrie was not such a cruel man in his behaviour outside. As soon as he stepped out of the prison he became a human being; inside it he was a beast. We shall have occasion to describe him fully as we go along.
It had come to this then. We had tremendous hard work in the prison and we had equally hard labour without. And yet I ever advised my political friends to prefer the latter to the former. Because outside you could do some propaganda work for which there was no scope behind the prison-walls.
Resolved to go out at any cost
As soon as I had completed my one year in the Silver Jail, I began sending petition after petition to be sent out for work. During one year and a half, I had the misfortune to be caught by Mr. Barrie and appear twice before the Magistrate on charges framed by him against me. First, on having written an anonymous letter to a person outside the prison for same news and press-cuttings from him. Unfortunately, the man to whom I had entrusted the letter happened to be Mr. Barrie’s spy upon my movements and the letter went straight to him. I had not mentioned the name of the man to whom the letter was to be delivered. A certain man would meet him at a certain place to whom the letter was to be given. That was the direction I had given to Mr. Barrie’s man. Hence that man’s name could not come out in the trial. But I was punished for it by one month’s solitary confinement. The next occasion for coming into Mr. Barrie’s clutches was the first strike. I had discussed in a letter how the strike was to be organised and carried on, and I was about to circulate it among the political prisoners. On a sudden my room was searched. The Officers had just stepped in when I threw the letter away. Somebody got hold of it and handed it over to the authorities. It was written in Modi script and the Officers could not ascertain who was its writer. Mr. Barrie got it read by one of his confidents. But the political prisoner dared not depose before me, when the case was on, that it was written by me. For he feared his other friends in the prison. Whereupon Mr. Barrie got his Bengali clerk to declare that the letter was written in Bengali, and to read it out before the Superintendent. But a friend on our side gave evidence to prove that the letter was not written in Bengali. “Damn me”, said he, “if a single Bengali alphabet appears in that letter.” The Superintendent was non-plussed, but Mr. Barrie held his own, and shouted, “Oh, Sir, these political prisoners have conspired not to give true evidence.” At last the clerk’s word was accepted as truth and I was sentenced to be manacled for a week.
While so manacled I appealed to the Chief Commissioner that he should make a thorough investigation and decide if the letter, put in evidence, was written in Bengali or Modi. The complaint was against false evidence about the letter in question. It did not matter to me if the Sentence passed upon me was not annulled. The Commissioner replied that the letter contained not a single word in Bengali. The clerk had deposed otherwise and had read the letter clearly and boldly in the Bengali script and had interpreted it to mean that I had advised the prisoners to go on hunger strike. The superintendent, when he knew of the report of the Commissioner upon the letter, was simply in a rage. He sent for the clerk and asked Mr. Barrie to go out. He threatened the clerk with punishment if he were not to tell the whole truth. The clerk was terribly frightened and blurted out, “Sir, I am only a prisoner; I have to do what Mr. Barrie orders me to do; I swore that the letter was in Bengali and I drew upon my wit to read its contents as if it was a Bengali script. It is not so, but I read what I was made to repeat in original Bengali. It was all under Mr. Barrie’s instruction that I did it”. The Superintendent was beside himself with anger, but to save Mr. Barrie he dismissed the clerk as the guilty person, he removed him from the job and informed me that, as I said it, the letter was not in Bengali and that he had taken proper steps against the clerk who had misled the court.
Mr. Barrie was scolded
The Superintendent gave it hot to Mr. Barrie and warned him against practising such a deceit upon him. Whenever, in rare cases, the political prisoners taught Mr. Barrie a lesson, he used to be as meek as a lamb with them during the succeeding weeks. He then recollected that he was an Irishman. He said to us, “Oh my friends, I am an Irishman; when I was young I hated the English as you hate them now. I have been a conspirator myself; I behave like this now simply because I am a government servant, and I have to carry out orders. Why do you consider me as your enemy? If you suffer, it is the government to blame and not I. I am innocent.” He used to be loquacious and ended his rigmarole with an apt story. He used to give us, during these weeks of expiation, a paper to read as an occasional act of favour. And we did make a full use of such facility and thanked him for it, taking him to be honest for the time being, and wasting no more flattering words on him. For we had to give even the devil his due.
Excepting these two cases against me, the rest of my period was completed without any flaw. As such, I kept on sending petitions for out-door work as it was my due after the lapse of one year and a half in that prison. For other prisoners who had been sent out before me had not only cases against them, but had also gone on strike. My brother had already put in two and a half years. Sometime I got an answer as follows: “You are not a political prisoner; you are classed as an ordinary prisoner.” And I used to reply, “Ordinary prisoners include thieves, robbers and dacoits. They also have among them some who have broken open prisons, escaped from them, are hardened criminals and sentenced several times. But they are also detailed for out-door work and have become petty officers and jamadars in this prison. If I am an ordinary prisoner, then I must get the same concessions as they. I should have been let out long ago. You should have appointed me as a petty officer or a jamadar. For I have not against me any charges of breach of discipline in this prison.” At long last, the Chief Commissioner wrote categorically that I was not to be sent out for any work outside the prison-walls. The reason he had given for this final decision was that though my conduct in that prison was exemplary, I had a very dangerous past behind me. If the past conduct was the criterion of decision, where was the point in the remark that my present conduct was unexceptionable? The sum and substance of it all was, that I may behave well or ill, I was always to be treated as a prisoner. There was no getting out of that position even for a slight concession.
While I was being dealt with in this manner inside the prison, the political prisoners who were sent for work outside the prison w ere being treated more harshly than before. All of us had begun to think that it was part of our duty to make an organised move to retaliate on behalf of Indu Bhushan the account of whose tragic end I have given in the previous pages. They had misrepresented him and they had sought to prove that he had done himself to death in a fit of insanity. We felt that we must do something to set things right in this affair. And we decided after considerable discussion and deliberation that strike was the only weapon that could bring the authorities to their senses. We further felt that we must be recognised as political prisoners not only for purposes of maltreatment, but also for purposes of due concessions, that whether we were kept inside the prison or sent out on the settlement, we must be given comparatively light work to do, some writing work inside according to our ability, or some light work outside according to our status. Nothing should be forced upon us simply to undermine our health as was being purposely done then. Political prisoners, other than those who had been transported here on life-sentence, should be treated like ordinary prisoners, so on and so forth. We put down these demands in a serial order, and we selected two of us as our representatives to submit the petition personally to the authorities. In the petition I had pointed out that prisoners on transportation for life did not get even the ordinary facilities of other prisoners, like sending and receiving letters, or occasional meeting with relatives and friends, or facility to read and write, or to be taken up as petty officers. We were not recognised as ordinary prisoners entitled to these concessions and we got no facilities as prisoners belonging to a special class. If we claimed any rights as political prisoners, we were put off with the excuse that ordinary prisoners would resent the partiality shown to us, and the prison- officers would not be a party to such a decision. To sum up, we were subjected, as political prisoners, to all the disabilities of prison- life in India and the Andamans, without the compensating facilities afforded to ordinary prisoners in all the jails of India, as well as in the Cellular Jail of the Andamans. I ended the petition with a solemn warning that no longer shall we tolerate such treatment of political prisoners in the jail presided over by Mr. Barrie. ‘No relief, no concession, then no work’-that was our final resolution on the matter. And, in the carrying out of this solemn covenant, we were prepared for the worst. Our petition, like all other petitions before it, went for nothing; and strike was the weapon we decided to employ. One by one, the political prisoners outside began to repair to their cells in the Silver Jail. The prisoners inside stopped all work on the fixed day and thus the strike began. This was the second strike during my period in the prison of the Andamans.
My brother had joined the strike on its first day. Prisoners were handled severely for this species of non-cooperation. Batch after batch of civil resisters was hauled up before the Superintendent, and sentences were passed upon them of putting on handcuffs, or chains on the arms, or shackles on the feet, or solitary confinement in the cells. Every block of the Silver Jail, and every room in that block witnessed the scene of prisoners hanging with their manacled hands tied to the top above. Some tried to squat on the ground with the chains on their hands and feet. Others offered stern resistance when shackles were being put on their feet. Others deliberately broke the rule of perfect silence and kept on talking loudly with one another. Others, again, refused to stand up, when Barrie would come to see them. Most of them had stopped work. When Mr. Barrie came, the petty officers announced him as ‘Sircar’. Ordinary prisoners, off their guard, would stand up. But the political prisoners, to a man, firmly sat upon the ground; and it took three men to dislodge them, each one from his seat and put him on his feet. Mr. Barrie would not like the exhibition of enforced respect, and he could not continue this exhibition endlessly. The political prisoners were given no food as retaliation against their stopping work.
Food stopped or cut down
Some of these were given very scanty food to eat and others were put on conjee without salt from week-end to week-end. Some skirmishing also began between the guardians of law and these passive resisters. So there were obvious signs of impending disaster all about the prison. When the news came to my ears I sent for Mr. Barrie and warned him to take care. I added, “They are at present only civil resisters. They disobey the law and you punish them for disobedience. And I don’t blame you for that. But if you are going to punish them in a manner to infringe your own regulations, then these infuriated young men will not fail to retaliate. They will return blow for blow
They realise that you will crush them. But they are like vipers. Even a worm turns; and they will not fail to sting you to the quick before you are able to scotch them. The responsibility of all this will rest on your petty officers who hammer them, and who set on each one of them, three of your creatures to pinion them and beat them down. Your petty officers are cruel, they are bullies and cowards. They abuse and they beat. The Pathan, the Punjabi, and the Mussalman-they are your agents in this nefarious business. But, be sure about it, abuse will meet with abuse and blow will meet with blow, before long. Our political prisoners are up to that game if you would have it. The Pathan and the Mussulman petty officers will stand aghast when they get such abuses from them-the choicest abuses, the like of which they may never have heard before. And abuse invariably leads to blows. And I have already warned you of the consequences; so you had had better muzzle your men.” This warning was not without its effect on Mr. Barrie. He misrepresented me, all the same, to his superiors as the arch-instigator of the strike, and of violence that would come in its wake. I had not yet gone on strike myself. For, I was expecting every day my annual letter from home. I had asked the political prisoners to wait till they had received their letters. Besides, my letter always contained fuller news of events in India, and that had afforded to all of us ample matter for discussion later on. It used to be circulated throughout the prison for perusal by political prisoners. As the time was near for receiving the letter, I had decided to postpone going on strike till the receipt of that letter. As I have mentioned above, my brother had already stopped work and joined the strike.
As the strike went on, Mr. Barrie began to meet with insult from every quarter, as he had never done before that time. All the prisoners seemed to view things differently. They behaved with perfect indifference. He tried his utmost to re-establish his influence over them by striking terror into their hearts. How hard put to it he was! Sometime this led to funny incidents. Among the political prisoners some knew English nominally, but they talked to Mr. Barrie in his own tongue like others. Mr. Barrie took it into his head that these prisoners wielded influence over the rest, because they were able to speak to him in English. He told them one day that they had no right to use English in their talks with him. He said, “You do not know good English and, therefore, you must express yourself like common prisoners in Hindusthani alone.”
Well, they began to act up to his precept. No sooner said than done. The very first sentence they spoke in Hindi was to the effect, “We don’t regard English as the language of the Gods. You addressed us in English and we replied in English; that was all. It is not a shame to us that we cannot speak English well; the more shameful thing, indeed, is that, being born an Irishman, you do not know your mother-tongue which is Irish. It is a credit to us that we don’t talk such fine English as to make us forget our mother-tongue. You ought to be ashamed that you speak English so well and altogether forget your native Irish."+++(5)+++ Mr. Barrie, exposed to this barrage of Hindi sentences which all understood so well in this prison, became an object of ridicule to all of them. They began to stare at him with gaping eyes. Whenever he talked to us in English, they did not understand him so well, and our answers to him in English lost all their significance and innuendo for them. And though really crest-fallen, he used to stand to his ground as if he was a hero and a victor. But now he stood thoroughly exposed, and every prisoner henceforth answered him straight in Hindi; and more so the political prisoners than any-one else. Question and answer followed like an exchange of bullet-shots. The Northerners among us were fine Hindi speakers. To Barrie they gave answers as he deserved. If he talked to them politely, they returned the compliment in choicest Hindi. But if he was rough, coarse and abusive to them, they retaliated in Hindi which he could never cope with in abuse, satire, innuendo and brutal frankness. So he was confounded and scared by their talk to them in Hindi. He would have fain returned to English, if it was possible for him to eat his own words. I may give here a few samples of these quick repartees. One day he said to a political prisoner in his usual way, “You, Hindusthanis, are all slaves.” He was full of exultation over this jibe, for he showed through it, he imagined, how he was looking down upon them. Out came the prompt answer from a political prisoner, “Indians, if they are slaves at all, are slaves of Englishmen. We are not your slaves. You are the slave of slaves, for England holds Ireland in subjection. We Indians are prepared to fight for freedom with our lives. But you serve those who throw a few crumbs of office at you. You bark like dogs for the master who feeds them. You regard as your own the British Empire that has enslaved your people as much as they have enslaved us, and are proud to be the watch-dogs of that Empire. You bark and bite at us because we do not recognise this Empire as our own.” This retort in Hindi to the supercilious Mr. Barrie made all the prisoners giggle with laughter, and Mr. Barrie became red in the face with shame and anger. It was he that had begun the discussion and introduced politics, and he was floored in that discussion. The only recourse left to him was to shout out. And he did shout, No more of your Hindi, speak in English
But now the political prisoners would not listen to him. “You ordered us to speak in Hindi. You forbade us to speak in English. Now we will stick to that order. No more of English for us.” Thenceforward not once did he say to any-one that he must talk to him in Hindi. He learnt the lesson of his life, and expressed a desire that we should all address him in English alone.
Many things had happened in this prison to spoil its discipline and lower the prestige of its authorities. And the resistance of political prisoners made that discipline and prestige totter to their fall. All the weapons in the armoury of its officers had spent themselves. Only caning remained to be used with such frequency as the other weapons were used. The officers were at their wit’s end what to do with us. They threatened us to beat with cane, but none of us minded that threat. At last the Chief Commissioner asked the Superintendent as also Mr. Barrie to make overtures to us. He told us through them to return to work. He promised that he would give light work to us, and assured us that he would see that the political prisoners would be sent out for work like ordinary prisoners. And, lastly, he also promised that he would definitely take up our case with the higher authorities to determine our status as a class of political prisoners. So, some among us resumed work; and, as soon as it was resumed, they were given lighter work to do, and they were also sent abroad. When we got the news, a change of opinion began that we should not now strain too much. I had always considered it desirable that my friends, the political prisoners, should have the freedom of going out for work in the settlement, for I was sure that it would help me in my propaganda, and would pave the way for my escape from the prison. So I advised, them to call off the strike and go to work. If all of them were not treated equally in the matter of out-door work, we were free to declare strike once again. Within a few days the prisoners resumed their normal life and my brother was one of them. The officers kept their word and sent many political prisoners on light work outside the prison, such as watching the coconuts, sweeping the streets and so on. If they had continued this policy, the strike would have ended at once. But they refused permission to the ringleaders to work outside. My brother, Mr. Wamanrao Joshi, Hotilal, Nani Gopal and two or three others were denied that right. Of course, I was out of question. I had never given up my work even during the progress of the strike, though I did not escape the charge that I was their ring-leader. It was well that the political prisoners, who had been punished many more times than myself for breach of discipline in and outside the prison, were chosen, after the strike, to be detailed for that work as before. They had gone on strike as their last recourse against the tyranny of their prison-life. I asked the officers why a thing that was just in their case should not be so in mine. The only answer they could give me was the remark of the Chief Commissioner that “my previous history in India had prevented them from doing so.” I answered to it that there were others like me involved in that history and sentenced to life-imprisonment for the same offence; but they had got the relief which was being denied to me. The previous record of that jail was that a prisoner was set free to go out and work on the settlement without regard to his previous history, if in the prison itself he had done nothing to violate its regulations. Besides, there were instances in that record of those who had been granted the concession in spite ofthe fact that they were prisoners on two to three years’ sentence and were clapped in this jail for the offence of breaking open and escaping from prisons in India. Invariably the reply was that the Government of India had ordered not to give me that relief. How long and for how many years was this ban to continue in my case? That they could not say definitly I, therefore, decided to appeal directly to the Government of India.
They would not let me appeal
I was, therefore, in a fix. My brother was in the prison much earlier than I came in. But even he was not being let out though he had been long assured of the concession. While discussing and arguing in this fashion, the Superintendent of the jail said to me, “Your protests are no doubt unanswerable, but, there is no doubt, it is you who encourage the strike.” To it my answer was, “But those who were actually in the strike have already been sent out. Why do you then come in the way of one who, like me, has only approved of the strike? Is my offence really graver than theirs? Is it not against all laws of the British Code? Just consider why I had not encouraged strike so far, or if I had done it, why did not my friends approve of it before? Why should there have been a strike at the moment when it happened? Did I encourage Indu Bhushan to hang himself? Did I teach Ullaskar to go mad? It is not I but the regulations of this jail, its hard physical labour, its mental agonies, its insults, and its whole system that are to be held responsible for the strike.” This way of reasoning convinced the Superintendent as also Mr. Barrie. Their stock answer was, “We are helpless; everything rested with the Government of India. It is their orders which have compelled us to keep you in this prison.” While I was fighting out my case, a new episode occurred and matters were carried to extremes. Among those political prisoners, who had held out to the last in the last strike, there was a Bengali youth sixteen or seventeen years old. He was a Brahmin lad from a respectable family. His name was Nani Gopal.
Nani Gopal was sentenced to fourteen years’ rigorous imprisonment for throwing a bomb on the running motor of a high police officer in Bengal. He was a lad of sixteen and in spite of prison-regulations to the contrary, he was put on the hard labour of the oil-mill. A struggle went on and he offered resistance. He had to suffer terribly in the last strike. He was segregated from his elders on the ground that they were spoiling him, But he did not give in. He resisted all the same. He was kept standing with manacles on. The more they punished him, the wilder he became. They punished him for the stoppage of work, but he gave up even washing his own clothes. He was given clothes made of gunny bags. He gave up wearing clothes, altogether. They held him fast on the ground and put those clothes upon him, and sewed them on his body, but he tore them off at night. Thereafter, he was put in chains. Hands and feet were both tied up. But during the night he managed to break the lock, snap the chains and set himself free. They abused him for the act, but he did not reply. He was punished for refusing to answer any question; and he refused to stand up before the officers. Then he was sent to solitary confinement and he refused to come out ofhis cell. He would not turn out even for bath. Then he was bodily lifted, stark-naked to be washed on the reservoir. He was stretched flat upon it, and the Bhangis washed his body. They rubbed his body with a piece of dry coconut shreds. And they rubbed it so hard that the skin was almost blood-red with the rubbing. The skin burnt, but he was not to be beaten. The Pathan warder, when he was alone with me, abused him in vulgar and indecent language. Nani Gopal went about naked during the day and they deprived him of one of his blankets at night. He threw off the other along with the first. So he remained day and night stripped in body and at night shivering with cold on the bare floor of his prison cell. His contention was that the prison authorities should rank him among political prisoners.
Recognise me as a political prisoner
That was his contention all along. He never cared, he said, what kind of food they gave him, for that was with him a minor matter. But the question of rank was not so insignificant for it was a question of honour with him. We are, he said, political prisoners and not thieves, robbers and dacoits. And the matter had to be decided once for all. The Chief Commissioner informed him that that status would never be given to him, do what he will. Nani Gopal would not surrender when the Chief Commissioner visited him personally and told him to his face, “You think that if you continue in this state you will melt our hearts, frighten us, and compel us to yield. That shall not be. We do not care even if you die. Believe it,” The officers may not yield, but that his behaviour gave them no rest, gave them furiously to think, was obvious to all of us. It was a creed with Mr. Barrie that two or three sharp raps with a cane were bound to bring a political prisoner to his knees. That was his experience with other prisoners in the jail. On the other hand, some of us quoted the order of Lord Morley that such a punishment was strictly forbidden in the case of political prisoners. We, therefore, thought that Mr. Barrie’s words were but an empty threat. However, I did not fail to warn them that Mr. Barrie might carry out his threat inspite of Lord Morley, for in this prison he was his own master, and, if it came to that, he would get an order changed; that they must go on strike bearing this fact full well in their minds. The Burmese lads of sixteen and twenty took twenty or thirty strokes of the cane on their palms without wincing, because they were accustomed to that form of punishment from their early boyhood. They may also get accustomed to it, and take as many canes as Mr. Barrie gave them. This made Nani Gopal face the threat of the Chief Commissioner unconcerned. He would obey none, he would bend before none, and he would do no work, leave alone the ‘Kolu.’ In sheer desperation the officers felt inclined to support Mr. Barrie and decided at last to resort to caning.
Nani Gopal was to be caned
Mr. Barrie was the first to inform me of it and confidentially. I told him frankly that though he was speaking to me confidentially, he was speaking as an officer, that he had given me the news intentionally that I may pass it on to my friends. I had, however, to warn him that if he ever used the cane on Nani Gopal its effect on all of us would be tremendous, and the consequences to him and to the prison would be terrible. All the political prisoners would be roused as they were never before roused in that jail. He had to recall, I told him, how dangerous these men were and what horror and violence they were capable of, once they were inflamed in mind. Their past deeds were witnesses to this fact and he had to think a hundred times before he caned Nani Gopal. I knew, I further told him, that his might was supreme to theirs and they would be crushed. But they will not fail to do, and will not shrink from doing, all they can. For the present they only protest and offer civil resistance. But if he resorted to inhuman punishment like caning, they will unfailingly resort to violence and then anything might happen.
They will shed blood and not refrain
“I do not say”, I asked Mr. Barrie to note, “what should happen, but what cannot but happen.” Mr. Barrie pretended to smile, but really he was startled. The punishment was announced, the frame was set up, we were all locked up in our rooms, every precaution was taken to prevent a riot and revolt. We were all ears to hear the piercing cry go forth from the mouth of Nani Gopal with the spirt of blood from his lacerated body. A warder came and informed us that Nani had been removed from that prison. He went away and presently an overseer came up to volunteer the information that the victim was thrashed within an inch ofhis life, and in indecent language he added, “Nani’s had been rent into twain.’ I answered him calmly, “Nani has not suffered in the least, and I may tell you that if any-one has come worse off in this business, it is not he. For I know that he has been transferred from this place elsewhere.” The overseer was simply astonished and went back without making any reply. The petty officer soon learnt the mischief that the overseer was spreading. He issued orders to apprehend the man and went away in anger.
The news was correct, the sentence was pronounced, but no one was prepared to execute it. They telephoned to the Chief Commissioner, but he hesitated to give the final order. At last Nani was taken down from the frame, the order was cancelled, and he was removed from the jail to be confined in a district prison for a few days. The Chief Commissioner carried but all this on the telephone, and the danger was avoided. That Nani Gopal was spared the ordeal made us all happy, but he himself felt bitterly disappointed. For he was determined to bear the caning and hold out to the end. He was flush with it and now it had all gone. His courage extorted the admiration of his enemies. He was taken out of our midst and far away, perhaps with the belief that they would be able to tame him down in the new prison. Soon they discovered how mistaken they were in this belief. For, in that new place he at once went on hunger strike.
When Nani Gopal was among us, we had all along tried our best to dissuade him from that step. For three days he went in that prison without a particle of food. But none paid the slightest attention to him. He did not eat and he did not speak. He lay on the ground without food and water. He was brought back to the Silver Jail, but he would not give up. Some five or six days it had continued like this, when they forced the food into him through a tube, as was allowed by the regulations of the prison. He was made to inhale milk through the nose. While this was going on in the prison itself, something happened outside that fell upon us like a bomb-shell.
The political prisoners detailed for outside work went about from district to district and established contact with those who had become free and set up a house for themselves over the entire settlement. This was strictly forbidden by law, though all prisoners without exception fully availed themselves of the opportunity of work outside to move freely among the people in the locality where they worked. The political, prisoners were specially interested in the spread of Swadeshi among those with whom they came in contact and to get from them bits of news which they would communicate to us inside the prison. There were in the settlement families of former prisoners of the Silver Jail. The new generation among them were free citizens and as such got reports of happenings in India without let or hindrance. We spread through them, by poems and articles, the spirit of Swadeshi all over the settlement. The articles sent out by us through this agency assumed the form of a circulating newspaper, and it helped to build up the influence of political prisoners in the world around them. The news of this spreading influence was carried to the ears of the authorities in an exaggerated manner, so that, before long, it was interpreted by them as a regular conspirary. By this time, the letters surreptitiously passed from here to India about the suicide of Indu Bhushan and the insanity of Ullas, had gone to their proper quarters. And they found their place and publicity in the newspaper world of India. This fact and the knowledge of it in the jail itself created a flutter in the official dovecotes. Even the most commonplace news was to us, prisoners of the Andamans, good tidings of great joy. A question about us in the Legislative Council gave us the strength and the hope to bear it all with patience here for a month following. For, we had begun to think of our-selves as the neglected ones of the earth, whom any-one could trample under foot with impunity; it had filled us with dark despair about our life. This news came as a ray of hope to illumine that darkness. And hope revived and with it courage, when we realised that our sufferings were not all in vain, but had in them the power to stir other men even as a drop of oil serves to flare up the burning fire into flame.
And it happened like that on the day about which I am writing. Who must have sent the news to India and carried the letters, was a matter of discussion among the jail authorities. And as they could not get at the source, they became more irritated than ever. Days went on in this way. When I was informed in reply to my former petitions that I was allowed to move out, and the officers would send me out on the following Monday. I was surprised at the reply! I felt that my brother also would be allowed to go out. I learnt by heart all the lines of poetry that I had scribbled on the walls of my room, and waited for the promised Monday to arrive. I was not sure all the same that they would keep their word. Monday dawned. Some prisoners were sent out and I was not among them. I lay confuted in my own cell. On the third day the Superintendent came to me. and I asked him about it. As he was honest of word, he felt ashamed of himself as he was the man who had given me the news of the promised relief. The Chief Commissioner, he said, had gone to Rangoon and that I would know about it after his return. I felt doubtful about it The Commissioner had gone to Rangoon to see the Lieutnent Governor, and, as soon as he had returned, there began one fine morning a regular campaign of arrest in the Andamans instead of my being sent out of the Silver Jail as promised by the Superintendent when he saw me last.
Mass arrests
Some were manacled, others were detained, and others again had their rooms searched. From the political prisoners the campaign spread out to the houses of free citizens, of Jamadars and tindels. The search and arrest party was manned entirely by European officers. And h did its work with terrible efficiency. It threatened, it shouted, it scolded and it terrorised, till the whole of the colony was stricken with nervousness and fear. The cause of all this noise and fury was that the officers had information of a bomb-factory stamd in the island by political prisoners working in the settlement. And it was not altogether without foundation. But the search and the arrests afforded no clue to it Even a cracker did not come out in the search, not to speak of a bomb. The informant was a Bengali gentleman. Lahnohan by name. On two other occasions he had similarly put the Officers on a false trail. The officers were, of course, furious with him. h was the same warder who was suspected by them of delivering HotilaTs letter from the prison to its proper quarters. The warder had perhaps raised the canard to propitiate the gods he had displeased. However that be, the political prisoners suffered terribly by this tale-telling of Lalmohan. Rumours were afloat that a bomb was found in an adjoining brook: that letters were intercepted by the police containing the plan of chartering boats to take the prisoners across the seas. No one was sure of what he was saying and w hat he had heard. The only thing one was sure of was the wholesale arrest of political prisoners and their being clapped back into their cells. Now we knew why the Chief Commissioner had gone to Rangoon. Mr. Barrie’s stock went high up in the market. He dared say to the Commissioner himself that he was always telling him that these were dangerous men and never to be trusted. But, he continued, the Commissioner held always blamed him. They did not behave well even to him. They deserved nothing but kicks.
It gave me great anxiety about the future in store for me. I had already suffered enough in one conspiracy case, and I feared what this case would bring to me. We had already been on transportation for life, my life-sentence was fifty years. The Gods that did me that ill-turn may involve me in this and deal even worse with me. I never more thought of being sent out in the settlement. The manufacturing of bombs and the chartering of boats had made that out of question. The officers behaved insolently towards me and told me openly that I should no more think of it They had final orders from the Government of India that I was not to be released from this jail till I had run my full sentence of fifty years or till I was dead before that time.
Who can describe the state of their mind, when these political prisoners heard these words from their officers? Some like me on life-sentence, all utterly helpless and locked up in their respective cells, with this new charge possibly hanging over their heads, and the nature of that charge still a mystery to them! A few days passed in this disordered and apprehensive state of mind, and they could not see their way out of it.
But this bewilderment continued no further and we were soon able to plan our future course. First of all, we made up our minds to entertain no unnecessary fears. Next, three of us were to write to the authorities to let them know definitely what the charge against them was. Thirdly, if our offence was bomb-making, plotting to escape from this place, conspiracy, or general revolt, we were to ask them to start criminal prosecution against us. The suspicion was, of course, against those of us who had been working outside the prison and the petition was forwarded in their names. They got a reply that the officers had not sufficient evidence in their hands to launch a prosecution. Then they insisted on work outside the prison, when they were warned not to think of it. The ordinary suits in the Andamans were filed before a court without a pleader to conduct either the prosecution or the defence, without either assessors or a jury. And if a man like Mr. Barrie, who was an expert in concocting evidence, could not prosecute us before such a court, the conclusion was inescapable that the whole story must be both imaginary and exaggerated. But whatever the nature of the evidence, it was enough to damn us with the Government of India. For, it would afford them material enough to send highly coloured reports about miscreants in this prison so that they could be doomed for life to rot in this jail. It was particularly so in an individual case like mine.
We have said above how our letters had reached. India and how their publication in the newspaper had created a stir there. To this was added the report of a bomb-factory in the Andamans. The Government of India, therefore, decided to depute their own officer to ascertain the truth behind these two reports. And no less a person than the Home Member himself-Sir Reginald Craddock, afterwards Governor of Burma-undertook the voyage on that mission.
Usually, the arrival of such an officer to the Andamans, in itself a very rare occurrence, was kept a close secret from the inmates ofthe Silver Jail. None knew his name; often he came as a stranger and went as a stranger. His inspection of the prison was almost a farce, for the prisoners were seldom asked questions or gave answers. They looked upon him as a casual visitor and never took him seriously. He, therefore, did not know their real grievances and was often guided by those who chaperoned him. As a result, he went back to report that all was well in the Andamans, and there everything ended.
But, this time the political prisoners had got previous news of the arrival of the Home Member to the Andamans. And they were prepared to make the full use ofthis opportunity. They informed the jail authorities that some of us wanted to have a personal talk with that distinguished visitor. The authorities asked them how they had come to know ofhis impending visit, and who had told them about it. But we were not to be cowed down by such threats. When the officer was going the round of our prison, he was sure to pass by our cells. And if we were not allowed to talk to him, we had decided to invite his attention to us by raising a hullabaloo as he went along our blocks. It was no matter to us if we were punished for it after the event. They had tried this method on former occasions and suffered punishment for it. But 1913 was different in this respect from all the years before it.
Sir Reginald Craddock came
A few prisoners were called out to meet him. Questions were put and answered. Some were told that they were the enemies of government and deserved nothing short of death. Others were told that they should never talk of being sent out for they were sentenced for high treason and they had conspired against the King. When some of us asked for proofs, the answer was that though they could not prove, they knew enough of it. My interview with Sir Reginald began on a different note altogether. Sir Reginald began, “Savarkar, to what a wretched state have you reduced yourself ? I have studied all your books. If you had applied all your talents to nobler ends, there was no high place in Government service which was beyond you to fill and adorn. But you chose to fall into this wretched condition. To which I answered, “I am grateful to you for your kind wishes. I may tell you, however, that it is entirely in your hands to take me out of this. Mr. Gokhale has just brought in his resolution on compulsory education in the Imperial Legislative Council. If it is accepted by Government, and if such measures of progress are assured to my people that they may rise as a nation, then not only myself but all my friends who are dubbed as revolutionaries will be ready to turn to the path of peace. They must be thinking similarly, I feel sure, as I am speaking to you now.”
Sir Reginald: How do you know this? Do you know where they are?
Myself: How is that possible? Am I not here confined in a solitary cell, and under your close watch and ward? But I know their minds as they know mine, and hence I draw this inference. If we advance definitely through methods of peace, it is immoral for us to enter on methods of violence. That is a principle with me, and I feel sure it is equally sound to them.
Sir Reginald: I am sorry you are entirely wrong there, for they are still advocating terrorism and they still swear by you. In India and in America your followers are still busy with their plans of secret societies and revolutionary activities.
Myself: I know it for the first time from you. How can I prevent any-one from swearing by me? Why do you take it that I can influence them from here for the simple reason that they call me their leader? (The reference here was to the Gadar movement and its newspaper in America started by Har Dayal and other members ofthe Abhinav Bharat Mandal)
Sir Reginald: (after a little conversation on the subject) If you are really prepared to stand by what you have said just now, I may think of permitting you to write a letter embodying your views.
Myself: I shall be very glad indeed to write such a letter. But it must be sent by me independently.
Sir Reginald: It must go through us or through me at least.
Myself: Will it not mean that it was written under your pressure? I should write, I think, independently.
Sir Reginald: I cannot allow it.
Myself: Then, I am sorry, I cannot write it, for I feel that to write through your government will make it suspect.
Sir Reginald: (Looking at me closely as if we thoroughly understood each other): Well, what are your grievances? May I know them?
I then told him the full story of sufferings in the Silver Jail. I also described to him the disabilities and hardships of political prisoners as well, when the Chief Commissioner who was present on the occasion interposed, “But you, political prisoner, have you not murdered? Are you not violent? Have you not conspired to destroy the Government in power? If Russia were ruling here, they would all have been sent to Siberia or straightaway shot in the back. It is the British Government that is treating you so leniently. And it is your good fortune that you are under that Government.”
Myself: I am sure, however, that Russia would not have disarmed India. Today Russia enrols inhabitants in Siberia as well as foreigners in its army, and appoints them to responsible military posts. And it would have appointed Indians to the same posts, and if it had treated us as you do, we would have beaten them, as we beat and conquered the Mogal Emperors of India.+++(5)+++
Sir Reginald: Your Hindu Raias would have treated you much worse than we are alleged to be treating you now. Do you not know how they tied rebels to the foot of an elephant and crushed them?
Myself: Yes, I know it. And I know also that in England they dragged a prisoner along the street for felony and hanged him. But these are things of the past by which none should swear today. You don’t hang a thief today in England. The fact is that the benefits of civilisation, wherever they may originate, are shared by all alike. Formerly a traitor was trampled under the foot of an elephant, but the victor punished a king by sending him to the block. Charles I and the English rebellion are instances in point. On both the sides the rule now is to follow civilised methods and, as you seemed to agree with us, we appeal to you to treat and judge us accordingly. If you say that you will treat us barbarously, we shall face the situation as best as we can.
After this long digression into history, we returned to the main subject. Some questions and answers passed between us about the management of the prisoners in our jail. Finally, I was told that the Government of India would reply, as it thought fit, on the subject under discussion. Sir Reginald Craddock came and went. But no reply was sent to us from India. The authorities in the Andamans told us to be satisfied with the interview, and reconcile ourselves to the status quo. But we decided that something had to be done, we could not take it lying low. With this decision made, we went on strike for the third time.
The Third Strike
Except one or two, all of us struck work. Sentence after sentence was passed upon us of six months’ imprisonment in chains. It was now one month and a half that Nani Gopal had gone on
hunger strike. Only a little quantity of milk was dully administered to him through the nose. He was reduced to skin and bones. Even then this lad was sentenced to stand for a whole week with chains on his hands and feet. But he remained firm, nothing could deter him. But others, deeply touched by his sufferings-some six or seven in number-went on sympathetic hunger strike. They were put in chains and subjected to similar punishment. I had, by this time, my expected letter from India. But it was not given to me on the ground that it contained some objectionable matter. And I immediately joined in the strike. I was sentenced to stand for two weeks in a framework of fetters for my feet. This punishment was followed by chains for hands and feet interlinked with a chain between them. My informants told me the contents of that objectionable letter. There was in it a reference to the criticism of Keir Hardie in Parliament on my imprisonment in this jail.
Keir Hardie’s Criticism
The gist of that criticism was that while in Ireland the Government had taken no steps against those who had threatened open rebellion, who had raised armies to fight the partisans of Home Rule on the soil of England, a man like Savarkar, whose only crime had been to distribute pistols among his fellow-conspirators, was sentenced by the Indian Government to fifty years’ transportation to the Andamans. If I had received the letter, the jailor felt, that criticism in particular against my incarceration might go to our heads and it might lead to the intensification of strike in that jail. Hence the letter was withheld from me. In the manifesto about the strike, we had made three principal demands: (I) That, as political prisoners, we should have all the privileges of the first class, (2) that we should, otherwise, be put in the category of ordinary prisoners, given all the facilities accorded to them and the periodical visit to this jail be permitted to members of our families; or (3) we should be sent back to serve our term in the jails of India, so that we may get all the facilities of that Jail life, including reduction in the period of the Sentence on certificate of good behaviour. During the strike we defied all ordinary regulations of the prison. We were locked up separately and under strict guard. So it had become difficult for us to communicate with one another. Even “the telephone method” described in previous pages was no longer available to us. It broke down completely because we could not reach the iron-grating near the floor of our cell and in the wall to talk. Well, if the telephone had stopped, we hit upon the method of telegraph, and that again of the wireless telegraph. It went on splendidly for a long time. We had shackles on our feet and they had manacles on their hand$. We rang them on the bars of our doors according to a particular code. And the news went round not only through the three or four adjoining rooms but through all the storeys of the near-by blocks. And in this mode of communication there was no scope for the warders to betray us. We carried on the communication in English to start with. My brother remodelled it into Nagari. Thus we had a pure Swadeshi telegraphic code and message to run through the whole building. Marconi may have invented the wireless for the world. My brother hit upon the plan for our prison before Marconi’s invention had reached the world of the Andamans.
Oh, Now I remember
By the way, as I am writing, I remember what the Capital of Calcutta had written about my brother. It had published the news that my brother had been appointed in this jail to run the wireless. You will please understand, my reader, that the news was not altogether without foundation! In vain, did we threaten the Capital with a suit and exact its apology! Yes, my brother was, indeed, working the code; the mistake lay in the fact that he communicated by it with two or three rooms close by, and not, as it had alleged, with Germany during the outbreak of the first World War. But what is ‘space’ and ’time’ to the philosopher of the Capital?
We conveyed our messages through this device to all the political prisoners in our jail, and whatever we proposed to do, we did, all as one man. Mr. Barrie was ever at the throat of the warders to extort how the communication was effected and how combined action was undertaken. The Pathan warders were ignorant blockheads. They made no head or tail out of the sounds they heard. They did not grasp why the handcuffs were sounded or knocked in a particular manner. If any-one of them shouted out to enquire, we said we were keeping tune to the singing of religious songs, which we recited inwardly. At last one of them suspected foul play. He made out sound responding to sound in regular sequence all over the building and in the rooms of the prisoners. And he reported his suspicion to Mr. Barrie. One night Mr. Barrie went silently over all the blocks in the building. He heard these sounds and their rhythmic beats. It was not difficult for him to make out what it was. He went back with an order to the warders not to let the devils make these noises. But who would listen to the warders? Who would obey the order? Were we not out for passive resistance?
During this period of noise and disobedience, we were every day taken out for our dinner for one hour in the morning and one hour in the evening. Mr. Barrie kept standing before us during the hour, lest we might talk to one another. For two or three days at the beginning, everything went on quietly. On the fith day, however, while all of us had sat down to our meal and we were eating it, each from his own plate, we heard some one lecturing to us. The opening words that fell on our ears were,
“Brothers! We are free!”
Every-one was startled and looked up. And behold, here was Nani Gopal who had uttered the words to defy the ‘silence’ order of Mr. Barrie. And he went on “Brethren, we are all born free. It is our birthright to speak to one another with love and kind greetings. If an enemy were to deprive us of that right, we must challenge him. Here I am speaking to you and will continue speaking.” Hardly had these words escaped his lips, when, bursting with rage, Mr. Barrie, Mirza Khan and the Pathan warder rushed at him. Nothing daunted, Nani Gopal went on with his eloquent discourse. He was lifted up bodily out of us and locked in the room. Still he had kept on talking and had not finished his peroration. The political prisoners could not contain themselves for laughter, and Mr. Barrie’s anger knew no bounds
Pathan or Hindu
Mirza Khan presently came to my room. He could not hold his peace; he seemed eager to unburden his heart to me, and said, “Bada Babu, that young fellow is your true disciple, I mean Nani Gopal. He is loyal to the core. His daring becomes a Pathan like me more than any-one else. He is verily a Pathan lad.” I answered, “Bada Jamadar, you are wrong. Your father was a Pathan and you are a Pathan. If he were a Pathan, he would not have rotten in this Jail for the sake of his country; he would have, like you, licked the shoes of Mr. Barrie and would not have defied him. If Mr. Barrie said it was night you would say ‘yea’ to him even though it was day. It is because Nani Gopal is a born Hindu that he is so brave. I am full of admiration for his daring and intelligence. But if all the Pathans were brave and all the Hindus were cowards, how could the Hindus have overthrown the Pathan or the Mussulman Raj in India?+++(5)+++
The Hunger Strike Ends
I was always against the Suicidal policy of hunger-strike, as I regarded it as ruinous to the individual and ruinous to the cause. That was not the way to fight the enemy, I maintained strongly. My view had its desired effect on the mind of our friends and they gave up the hunger-strike. The hardest nut to crack was Nani Gopal. He would not yield. He was on the verge of death. I, therefore, employed all extreme measure to overcome his resistance. I threatened him with hunger-strike if he would not give up his own. And the following day I acted up to my word.
I went on hunger-strike
The news that I had stopped taking my food went like wild fire round the prison. The officers were full of fear. It was all stir and excitement among them. The Chief Commissioner expostulated with the Superintendent to put an end to it. I was tried for this new offence. But in the trial, instead of punishing me, they exhorted me to break the fast. I told them why I had gone on hunger-strike, and asked them to permit me to speak to Nani Gopal. When Nani beared the news that I had declared three days’ hunger-strike, he was stricken with grief. I was taken to his cell by Mr. Barrie. I saw him and he agreed to break his fast. I took him aside and whispered, “Do not die like a woman; if you must needs die, die fighting like a hero. Kill your enemy and them take leave of this world.”
He dines and I break my fast.
From this time onwards we had our two meal and had plenty of coconuts to eat in addition to them. The quantity of daily ration had been reduced for strikers. Yet they consumed it all and would not work. Why do you starve yourselves? Take as much food from them as, you can, grow fat and don’t work, This was the mantra I gave them and they followed it to the letter. All forms of punishment by the jailor were exhausted in our case. And we were hauled up before the Magistrate. Some got two months, some four, and Nani Gopal was given one year’s rigorous punishment. But the strike continued all the same. At last the Government of India had to come out with a special notification on the subject. It was about the new order of things affecting us as political prisoners in the Silver Jail of the Andamans.
The New Order
What did the notification say? What was there in it so that our officers read it out to us so grandiloquently? Well, the following were some important items in that notification :-
(I) All the prisoners who were sentenced to a definite period of time, short of life-sentence shall be sent back to their respective prison in India, where the remission of their sentences will be duly considered and followed.
(2) Prisoners on life-sentence shall be detained in this prison for a continuous period of fourteen years, whereafter they will be set free for some labour of a light character. This shall operate only in the case of those prisoners who give proof of good behaviour during their period of incarceration.
(3) During the period of fourteen years, the prisoner shall be given decent food to eat, and decent any decent clothes to wear. After five years, he shall be allowed to cook his own food and given from twelve annas to a rupee per month as his pocket allowance.
The end of the third strike
From the concessions granted in the notification it is easy to realise that many of them had confirmed to the demands made by the strikers. Although the notification had stated that the order was final, we knew what to think of them, for, in the opinion of the political prisoners, nothing was a settled fact that could not be unsettled. However, we decided to accept what had come to us, and to end the dispute for the present. We, therefore, called off the strike and resumed work.
Soon after, the term-convicts began to be sent back to the prisons in India. We, who were left behind, did not fail to remind them that in India they must give as much publicity as they could to the prevailing harsh condition in the Andamans, and, with every chalan despatched to the Andaman^, they had to send us news from India. As these political prisoners were distributed all over India, it was easier for them to do this double work. And be it said to their credit that they did their part remarkably well. After the exit of the term-convicts, those who had remained behind on life-sentence like me were very few in number. There were one or two term- convicts still with us. We were all allowed in batches to cook our own food. As such we got clean and well-cooked food to eat. Some of us were detailed for work in the printing press, in the library, and on map-drawing, of which we shall write in its due place. And each of them earned about Rs. I0 a month from such work. Those who had not seen a single rupee since their incarceration, had now with them five to ten rupees every month, a change in their status equivalent to that of a millionaire among beggars. So many of those were at their beck and call for anything they needed. Don’t think it was a miracle. That was bound to happen in a prison like the Silver Jail, and in a place like the Andamans.
About those on life-sentence
All this was no less than a revolution in the life of a political prisoner. But to what extent was I benefited by it? Not very much indeed! I was given no writing work to do. I was not appointed to supervise any factory. The only satisfaction I had was to see my friends in better condition than myself. Myself and my brother had to weave the same strand, and do the same work. Later on, my brother and Wamanrao Joshi were transferred to the cooking department, and they cooked for all of us. I was the same solitary prisoner, in the same solitary cell, and in the same block No. 7. The administration of the Silver Jail in my time had one policy to follow and Mr. Barrie had defined it to me many times before. The keynote of that policy was that “Savarkar was the father of unrest in the Andamans; he was to be given no quarter and shown no mercy.”
We have reached the year 1914 in our narrative. Here ends the first part of the history of our agitation in the Andamans. The political prisoners in the Silver Jail were mainly responsible for that agitation. We now enter on an epoch fraught with immense changes in the world as the result of the first World War. It had also its repercussions, mainly political, in India. And these affected, in no small degree, life in the Andamans as well, and changed the course of its future history. In the years till 1914, the political prisoners had directed all the energy of their mind and will to improve their own condition in the prison-life of the Andamans. And the first part of our narrative describes that struggle. After 1914, they concentrated their work on the awakening of the people in the Andamans and on putting new life into them. This remarkable difference
between the two periods naturally divides our narrative also. We end its first part here, and will give the rest of the story in the part that follows.