Amnesty and political prisoners
The Jail Commission had left the Andamans. There was no doubt in my mind that the members of the Commission were considerably impressed by the statement I had submitted, and the discussion I had with them. And I have reason to believe that they did not suggest my release because, though I had plainly put it to them that if the new reforms proved a success the revolutionaries would follow the path of peace, I had introduced many ifs and but’s to qualify that general proposition, and they were angered by them.
All the same, I had the deep satisfaction of realising that I had done all that I could for the well-being of thousands of my fellow- prisoners and the Government had no rational explanation to offer for my detention in that prison.
While the Jail Commission was engaged in its work in this prison and afterwards, a great movement had been started in India for the release of political prisoners in the country and outside. It made the release a great national issue. The ‘National Union’ of Bombay had Submitted to the Government of India a monster petition signed by 70,000 persons, demanding their release. I was always insisting on the need of such a petition to bring home to the Government the keenness of public opinion on this vital matter. It is clear to the reader from what I have written about it in the foregoing pages as also from the extracts I have quoted in them from the annual letter I had sent to my brother in India. Our leaders in Bombay and Maharashtra by their strenuous efiorts had at last fulfilled that desire. The Government had always maintained that politicals like us had absolutely no following, much less any sympathy from other parties in the country; that the country was indifferent to our fate. They went further and asserted that the mass of people regarded us as wicked and self -centred revolutionaries, no better than other criminals in the country. The representation made by the ‘National Union’ on behalf of 70, 000 signatories to it, was a conclusive answer to the position the Government had taken. It had a great moral effect in the country, as a vindication of the opinion that the people regarded the revolutionaries as good patriots as those who differed from them in their methods of work, and in their approach to the great national issue. It showed further that the people were full of gratitude to them for their daring and sacrifice in the public cause. The representation was bound to create a great moral force so much needed to persuade the Government to do justice by us. I had said as much to my brother in his visit to me in the Andamans. The. 4National Union’ of Bombay had rendered a great service to the country by preparing the petition and taking as many as 70, 000 signatures upon it, covering in its activity a wide area from Bombay to a far off village like Bhagur, within the period of a fortnight, an activity in which ladies took such a great part in distributing leaflets and collecting signatures from door to door. It may be rightly described as a landmark in the history of political convicts in India. I may be allowed to say here that my younger brother had done a fine piece of work in promoting the agitation which had fructified in that petition. The petition was also an indication of the great national awakening in the country and the courageous attitude of the people behind it. There was a time in our national movement when the word political prisoners was a terror to the people, and even great national leaders uttered his name without using behind it the appellation due to him as a gentleman, as if he was no better than the most condemned miscreant in society.
The petition had demanded the release of all political convicts including the revolutionaries. And it had made a special mention of me and my brother, precisely because the Government bore a special grudge to us, as deserving such a release. Most of the signatures were taken from people in Maharashtra, as there was very little time for the ‘National Union" to approach the people of other provinces. The monster petition submitted by the ‘National Union’ would surely have grown into a grand remonstrance containing ten times the signatures it bore, if there was time enough to pursue the activity, far and wide, throughout the whole country. And yet the petition had on it signatures of representative leaders of all the provinces in India.
What we in the Andamans felt about it is well expressed in my letter to India written in 1920. I give the following extract from the letter here for the information of my readers.
“Many thanks, I am grateful to all the leaders and patriots and, especially, to the members of the Bombay ‘National Union” for undertaking the task of preparing a petition on behalf of all the political convicts, signed by 75, 000 persons and forwarding it to the Parliament. You have achieved the task within such a short time that it deserves all the greater praise for it. It is bound to weigh with the Government, if not directly, at least Indirectly. To say the least of it, the petition had raised the moral status of political prisoners all round, as also of the work for which many had fought and failed. I shall now welcome release, if it were to come to me. For people themselves have expressed their desire to have me back among them. I do not find words adequate enough to express all that I feel about it. The gratitude is overwhelming and the joy inexpressible. They have given me more than deserve from them. I have no doubt about it."
Within a few days the Government announced its decision to let off all political prisoners in accordance with the terms of general amnesty.
The credit of it all goes as much to the petition submitted by the Bombay ‘National Union’ as it goes deservedly to the work behind it of an all-round agitation and awakening in the country about the political prisoners’ condition in the Andamans.
One evening before the day’s work was over, I was standing with other prisoners around me, when one of my Sikh friends came running up to me and said clapping his hands, “Babuji, you are free, orders have come for the release of all the political prisoners in this jail. You are free, Babuji, you are free.”
What the word freedom really means and what joy it brings, only the heart of him can tell, who has been sentenced to transportation for life, or who is waiting in his cell to be taken to the gallows.
All the prisoners in our section stood rooted to the spot; the unexpected had happened, and they kept on whispering to one another the word deliverance. But I had heard the word so often, and so many times had it been broken to my heart, that my joy of it could not last long; my heart failed to respond to it. In 1911, on the occasion of the King’s’ coronation, a prisoner had come up to me all agog with similar news. And prisoners had rolled up their beds and kept themselves ready to depart. Eight or nine years had rolled by since that day, and I was in the same prison now as I was then. So many political prisoners had come and gone during the period!
Therefore, I asked my Sikh friend pointedly what his source of the news was, whence had it come and how. Had it come by wire or otherwise? Our organisation for getting the news had been so efficient now, that whenever the officers received any order or information from India, that order or information was being instantly communicated to us; the copy of the printed order or information would reach our hands at the same time that the original fell into the hands of the officers concerned, crossing all the barriers of the seven seas, watches, walls, locks and bars that would keep it away from us. A copy of the wire had similarly passed into the hands of a warder who had handed it over for me to the Sikh prisoner. As soon as I put him the question, he put the telegram in my hands and smiled. He then asked, “Well, are you now satisfied? Do you or do you not believe me now?” And full of joy and in a victorious mood, he gave me a hearty shake.
I read the wire. The political prisoner was not to be free. I read the sentence to my friend which ran ‘so far as it is compatible with public safety’. The meaning of the qualifying clause was clear as daylight. The amnesty was granted compatible with public safety, from which I was sure that myself and my brother, and other fiery prisoners like us were not to get the benefit of the general pardon. In spite of my doubt about it, lost in joy they would not believe me. Every one of them waited, morning and evening, for the order of their delivery from that jail. I told them frequently that many of them were no doubt to be set free, and that was, indeed, a matter of sincere rejoicing and personal victory for all of them. But let them not delude themselves that all of them were to go out, for their despair would be sharper and more unbearable. The one thing certain was that we must live, struggle, pine away and die here. The thing that was not so certain was anything else beside it.
And it turned out as I foretold. The amnesty was not only not applied to me, but also to most of those political convicts who came there many years after me.
Some of them are still rotting in different jails in India. Heaven only knows when they shall be free.
Those who were released included by far the largest number of political convicts from Punjab and Gujarat. Most of them were soldiers and had fomented riots in that part of India. They had been in this prison, at the most, for two years and a half. The pure revolutionaries transported for life, -political prisoners strictly so called, -who got the benefit of general amnesty, all hailed from Bengal and were involved in the Maniktola Bomb Case; and others who were convicted in the Punjab and the Benares trials for conspiracy and sedition. It was, indeed, a day of universal rejoicing for us all. But in the midst of this rejoicing, I did not fail to point out the fly in the ointment, which was that India was not yet free, that they had fought and suffered for her freedom which was the national goal. And so long as that battle was not won, this rejoicing could not but have its dark shadow of grief, and the rejoicing may be but momentary, to be followed by similar hundred battles, and sufferings and incarcerations. Many still have to die fighting for the cause which my trusted friends and colleagues should never lose sight of.
I also drew their pointed attention to a matter of deep significance locally; and it was that among those released were some fire-eaters, one of whom had resounded the whole chawl with his songs of patriotism caulled from the revolutionary journal ‘Gadar’, and made crowds of prisoners hang on his lips while he sang those passionate songs. I may give here just one bit from them to show how fiery they were. Here is the catch: “Open your eyes, O, Indians, the nation is reeling and sinking.” I can never forget this refrain; I can hear its sound even today. That such vehement persons should get their pardon was an indication of change in the national temper, and the change in the policy of Government dictated by that temper. It was not the reward for the good conduct of prisoners in the Andamans. I kept on hammering this fact because, the amnesty would otherwise have been construed as the reward of obedience, and of abstention from any activity in the prison for the unity and uplift of its inmates. And this feeling would have reacted detrimentally on the conduct of the spirited persons among political prisoners as also on that of other nationally-minded prisoners in that jail. That would have bred in them cowardice to make them withdraw from many a useful activity which I had kept going in that jail.
Leaving alone this aspect of the matter, I was very glad that the Bengali friends who had tome the borne of the revolutionary struggle and suffered terribly for it, shoulder to shoulder with my elder brother, had got their release from this prison as a consequence of the general amnesty proclaimed by the Government. I saw them personally, and felicitated them upon their good fortune. There were among them some who were more intimate with me and who were trusted friends and ardent patriots. They were all transported here for life but had only served four years of their term. The Sikhs, who happened to be released in a batch began singing patriotic songs on their march to the harbour.
On them the Chief Commissioner had said in his report, so the rumour went then, that “these devils were bound to return to the Andamans once again with a life-sentence passed upon them.” It was very likely, indeed, for they were proud and rebellious spirits, every one of them.
All these discharged prisoners had to sign a pledge that they would abstain from politics and revolutionary activity for a certain number of years.+++(5)+++ And, if again they were tried and found guilty of treason, they would come hack to the Andamans to serve the remainder of their life-sentence.
Since the receipt of the wire to which I have already reffered on a previous page, a hot discussion went on among us whether we should at all sign such a pledge for procuring our release. My advice to my friends was that there was nothing wrong in it as it referred to a future contingency and was in the best national interest. I quoted to them instances from the life of Shivaji. Of his dealing with Jay Singh and Afzul khan; I told then of Guru Govind and his flight after the incident of Chamkore; nay I drew upon the life of Lord Krishna himself, in order to convince them of the correctness of the step they were taking.+++(5)+++ The most obstinately proud among them would not be persuaded even by these parallels from the past. Their this stubbornness on subject, after all that they had suffered for the cause, inspired me with great hope for the future of my country. But at last I could convince them of my point of view, and they all signed the pledge without demur, and thus broke open the lock of the jail in the Andaman.
So many followed them out in regular batches. Of them all the deliverance from jail of Bhai Parmanand made all of us extremely happy. For though he was only five years in that jail, life there, and the wickedness of the place and its atmosphere, had filted him with such horrid disgust that he could breathe in it with difficulty ; and already a month had expired since he had gone on fast unto death. I was all along trying to make him desist from that course and they had begun to feed him through the nose. After things had gone on like this for a few days more, news of general amnesty fell on our ears. I thought that the name of Bhai Parmanand was sure to be included in that pardon. Hope rose high and he resumed taking his food. A few days after the incident, news came of Bhai Parmanand’s release. He came to me full of feeling and affection and said, “You should have been the first to be released; hem I feel restrained to go out without you.” As he said this tears rolled down from his eyes. At last he bid me adieu left the prison. I returned the compliment with the sincerest good wishes, and took, leave of him with the words, that seeing him leave the place was such a great joy to me that in it was completely drowned the thought that I was to be here after he had gone.
Graduates of Naland Vlhar
From the day that I saw every possibility for a large number of political convicts to be released under general amnesty from this jail. I carried on among them in every meeting and on every occasion throughout the week till the last batch of prisoners had gone out, a vigorous campaign of education. We discussed the line of work we ought to follow, now that we were being free, for national awakening and in favour of national freedom. When these batches had stepped into the Silver Jail years ago they were only lovers of their countxy full of the spirit of self-sacrifice. But within five or ten years of their life here, they were completely transformed by self-education and study to such an extent that I may sincerely say of them, that they were going out as full-fledged graduates of our “Home University” of ‘Naland Vihar", as I have preferred to designate our educational centre in this jail. They were no more mere soldiers in our army but they richly deserved to be promoted, some of the best among them, to the rank of captains and generals. For their patriotism was no longer a passing emotion or mere fervour, but had deepened by self-discipline and study into a steady flame- “the pale flame of strenuous self possession.” Years of hard work and patience had brought them that rich reward, and when I saw the flame burning with its rich glow, I felt an indescribable joy within me for the transformation I had witnessed in them.+++(5)+++ I felt that through them the fruit of my labour and service will pass on to my country, and my power and my way of thinking will spread throughout the land. That these were sure to be implemented through them made me so cheerful and happy. There were some among them whom I had saved from the brink of suicide. And I was particularly pleased that their lives would now be dedicated to the service and uplift of the nation. The thought that it would be so, made me glad beyond measure, and reconciled me to my present position in this prison.
After all of them had gone out in their respective batches, only thirty political convicts remained behind of whom myself and my elder brother formed inevitable company. Putting our case aside, as out of question, I did not understand the logic of keeping the rest still in that jail, when those who had been known to be hardened criminals and dare-devils, any day worse than they, had been given the advantage of the proclaimed amnesty. This may have happened, I laid the flattering unction to my soul, for want of impartial and close scrutiny of every individual case as worthy or unworthy of pardon, and because there was no fixed standard by which every prisoner should be weighed in the balance. As a result some of them who really deserved release had been kept behind; and the worthy had to suffer with the unworthy.
Ten years of intensive and wide-spread agitation had at last helped to turn the tide in favour of all political prisoners in the country, but my brother and myself were once more left high and dry to linger on the shore behind. Those who had come with me on transportation for life, those who had been sent here on life-sentence some eight years after me, had left the prison after only two years of incarceration. But we two continued to rot here without even a day’s pardon in the period of our sentence. Of course, the treatment meted out to both of us was not without its due effect on the mind of the Indian people. The more Government tried to repress us, the more the people thought of us and remembered us. Questions were put in the Imperial Legislative Council at Delhi why an exception was being made in our individual cases, when almost all of the political convicts had been discharged from prison under the terms of the general amnesty. The newspapers kept up the same cry. The Working Committee of the Indian National Congress passed a resolution “demanding the release of Savarkar brothers and of two others from the Punjab, namely, Boga and Ratan Choudhari.”
But-at last, we also had our chance; Dame Fortune smiled upon us too. We were discharged in the Silver Jail in the Andamans.
But from where and how? When others were taken out of that jail, we were taken out of our respective solitary cells in the chawls, and made to stay in the Courtyard of the prison. After some ten to fifteen representations, we were removed near the door of its office. I was given the work to note down the names of the prisoners in the prescribed forms, to take those forms from and to the office, and to stay near the door. I was not allowed to enter it.
Once even that door was shut against me. Not for any fault of my own, sure enough. One of the political prisoners was writing a letter to be sent to India when he was caught in the act by the warder in charge. The prisoner had written in that letter information for newspapers in India about the condition of prisoners in this Jail. The warder and the writer of the letter were duly punished for the offence, but I also suffered along with them. For a few days more I was forbidden from taking my seat near the office-door.
This was ever the hitch in my way. Whenever anything untoward happened in the jail, I was made a scape-goat for all the sins, and had to pay heavily for them.
With all this useless lamentation on wrongs done to me continuing, I was again brought near the office-door, and at last stepped into the office itself. But that again proved to be a step and nothing more.
I had by this time finished ten years of my sentence in this prison. To be more accurate, I had certainly completed my nine years. I then began petitioning to the authorities that, as some of those who had come into the prison along with me, had already been given permission to go out of the prison for a stroll, and one of them was granted leave to stay in the settlement, and as others who had followed me years after, were detailed for different kinds of work outside it, like, for instance, higher work in the factories and the printing press, I should be given the permit to move out and sit all to myself in some place for some part of the day. When hundreds of political convicts on life-sentence and ordinary prisoners on two years rigorous imprisonment had been discharged only after two years’ hard labour in the jail, a convict like me, who had been there for ten consecutive years, should, at least, be not denied such a ticket. The answer to my petition was a point-blank ‘no’; and the ground was that I had not yet completed my ten years!
The regulations which went against me had always been observed meticulously; while those which went in my favour were far from being so strictly applied.+++(5)+++ According to the rule, I should have met my kith and kin after five years, but I did not secure the permission to see them till after seven or eight years. And now as I had technically completed my ten years, the permit I had applied for was being withheld from me!
But was the rule at all observed strictly? By no means. Ten years had passed, the time for granting the ticket was already overdue, and I was lingering in that jail yet!
A Foreman
But now I came to be appointed a foreman, and I drew for the appointment the handsome salary of Rupee One per month! And that was, again, an act of favour. I am sincerely thankful to the individual officer who did me that kind turn. Never mind, I am a foreman all the same. Same of them spoke to me by way of a jibe, “Many others after you are now occupying higher jobs here; they are ‘Babus’ and are exercising their authority as such. While your good self! You are only a foreman in an oil-depot!”
I used to give them an equally curt answer: “You do not realise the power that I possess. What of the Babu? A prisoner, a Superintendent, a Commissioner - each of them is only a ‘man’. While I am a ‘foreman’, that is the leader of men. The Government has at last seen my worth, and honoured me as I deserved. The honour which even the Viceroy did not have, they have bestowed upon me. A foreman, the leader of men-what better title should I aspire after?”
As a foreman I was in charge of the big oil-depot of the factory. In the prison-world, the office had its singular importance. oil-depot contained hundreds of casks of coconut oil containing a month’s produce of thousands of pounds of oil ready for export abroad. This was the main and a great source of income in the Andamans-its coconut gardens and the oil manufactured out of them. Three big reservoirs were full of oil ground out of the oil- mill in that prison. Big casks were filled with oil on order for export abroad. They went to Calcutta and Rangoon and returned to the treasury an income to be calculated in thousands. The oil-depot was the centre of all these transactions from month to month and throughout the year. It was the nerve-centre of the Silver Jail-its thews and sinews. And others were naturally jealous that I was put in charge of the job. So they began to twit me. Indeed, it was a key- job, an important job and I was dressed in that authority!
What the job meant and what I made of it had better be told in an independent and a new chapter.