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

incidents may be, they do not Justify the perversion of the motive behind such struggles and revolts. Nanasaheb's forces may have put to the sword many an English woman without his sanction or knowledge. But what of ten tames as many women burnt to death in the campaign of fire and loot that the British army had carried in the villages round about Allahabad? Statues have been erected to the Generals of this army in England Neile writes in his diary about it, 'It was my duty to follow this policy of cruelty for the good of my country.' Cannot the same words be used in defence of excesses perpetrated by the army of mutineers? If at all there is guilt in these actions, both the sides are equally responsible for it, more or less, or we must exonerate them both from such a charge. The visitor said on this, "I grant that the revolt was a War of independence I also admit that allegations made by one side against the other in that struggle are mere fabrications The Indian soldiers may not have committed all the Indecent ants that are being attributed to them. But what is the moral that we may derive from it now? What is the lesson we are learning today?" "That is none of my business. I have discussed the whole position in the spirit of history. I am not going to descant here on its present-day applications. I think I have said enough on the point consistent with my position today. I cannot go into that question further at the present moment." "Well, we shall leave it here today. Some other time we may open it again," Mr. Barrie concluded, as if spontaneously, and left the place, after enquiring sympathetically about my health. An experiment in verse For two days after, I had no work to do in my cell. I asked for books to read, and I was told that I would get them only after a month or two of observation of my conduct as a prisoner. Not a soul moved here with whom I could exchange a word. I resumed my originally planned work of composing poems. I continued with what I had already done elsewhere. But I had no means with me in this place to do the kind of literary work I had intended to complete. It taxed my mind to the utmost to keep it going. For a single date and a single right word, I had to scratch my brain for weeds together. However brilliant the fancy, I had to abandon it for want of material to translate it into beautiful and apt imagery in words. I had to draw exclusively on the stores of my memory for anything I could think or write. For years this was the only capital I could use. The first secret missive It was the fourth or the fifth day of my residence here. No other prisoner was let into the whole building from whom I might gather any news. I had just finished my morning meal