मेरा आजीवन कारावास / माझी जन्मठेप (स्वातंत्र्यवीर सावरकर - काले पानी का ऐतिहासिक संस्मरण)

In good old days our kings used to reward those who brought them good news with the gift of golden bracelets. And the report of reverses could come to them only from the mouth of the victorious enemy when he entered the palace and mounted on his chest. It does not pay one to be such a coward." I gently rebuked my fellow prisoners in this manner and prepared their minds to hear any news that came to them in natural course. The wise among them became used, in the aftermath of war, to hear and understand everything. They began to realise how the defeat of Turkey was a good dose to our Mussulman friends in this prison, to take off their self-conceit and to change their angle of vision towards India. Yet the war was not without its detrimental effect on the health of all prisoners in this jail, including the political prisoners whom it affected the most. Some suffered from continuous solitary confinement; others from the insanitary conditions and the bad climate of the Andamans; and all from lack of fresh air and wholesome food all along. There were strong, well-built men of rugged constitution among the Punjabi and the Sikh political prisoners who were the last to come in this jail. But they also suffered from complete collapse of health in the conditions created by war. Within three or four years the tallest among them were stricken with T. B., and became thin in body; others fell victims to chronic dysentery, and others, again, thought seriously of suicide. Three or four Sikhs died from T. B. before my very eyes. And I was kept for observation in the hospital suspected of the same disease. I was sorely grieved when I saw them dropping off one after another like dry autumnal leaves. I was to go the same way soon—I felt within myself. It was, indeed, a miracle that, when they had dwindled and died within three or four years, I could hold out for these eight or nine years. Babu Jotish Chandra A young man, Jotish Chandra by name, lay in ambush for the arrival of a German submarine to take him off from the hands of the police who were on his track for revolu- tionary crime in Bengal. He was a Bengali and a member of the terrorist organisation in India. The police detected him and in the clash that followed, Jotish Chandra received a bullet-wound in the leg. He was, thereafter, caught, tried and sentenced for transportation to the Andaman*. One evening during the strike, the warder took the food to him to be served on his plate. The prisoner in the room asked the warder first to remove the chamber pot and clean it. And then he would take the food that the warder had brought for him. I have already told you how the prisoner had to sit for stools in his own room when he was locked inside. The warder asked him to go back into his room, and with the help of jamadars and other officers managed to put the food inside and left. Mr. Barrie made no inquiries about the incident. Jotish had to sleep the whole night beside the stinking stools and in a small, ill-ventilated and closed room. This was not the first experience of its kind for us, political prisoners, in this jail. But Jotish Babu's patience had reached its breaking point. It was the proverbial last straw for him. He threw away the food and went on hunger-strike. Within a few days he started passing blood in his stools; and he was removed to the hospital. We were all pressing him hard to resume