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

us, exercised most, was our tongue You should, therefore, call us men of the tongue, if not men of the pen. Surely the appellation 'bomb-thrower' does not fit us. To this, my disciples answered humorously, "Tell us then the right name for you, we shall adopt it." "We are rightly called political prisoners. If you cannot easily utter it, then abridge it if you please in your vernacular as Raj-Kaidi." This word was picked up quickly, and they could pronounce it easily. Henceforward "political prisoner" became our common designation. Mr. Barrie did not welcome the change. He never put up with it. If any one addressed us as 'Babu', Mr. Barrie would shout at him, "What Babu, who is Babu here? They are all prisoners, you fool." Mr. Barrie, of course, distinguished between prisoners who knew to read and write and those who did not He had no objection to call the former 'Babus.' But he resented that name being bestowed upon us How then will he allow others to call us political prisoners? 'D' Ticket "You are not political prisoners"-that was Mr. Barrie's slogan to the end of the chapter. If any prisoner pronounced that name in his presence, the Sahib would go at him, "Ah! What political prisoner? There is none here of that kind. They are all of a common class like you. Ticket No D marks the so-called politicals, as it brands you all and the worst among you." The letter D signified 'dangerously.' And the badge that we wore had this letter inscribed on it. The clothes we were given to wear also had badges with that letter. With all Mr. Barrie's objection to these appellations, from the first day to the last, I came to be known as "Bada Babu " Even Mr. Barrie, at tames, would say, "Go, Havildar and fetch here the Bada Babu No 7 " As my fellow-countrymen in that prison learnt to distinguish between ordinary prisoners and political prisoners, they all called us by that name. The word had the smell of Swaraj and that was why Mr. Barrie hated the word. On the other hand, I desired to stamp the word Swaraj upon their hearts. So I particularly stressed the point that, when referring to us, they should all mention us as political prisoners and, in course of time, that word became a current coin in the terminology of the Silver Jail. An offering to a cruel deity(A sop to Cerberus) The political prisoners in the Andamans, before my arrival there, were all put together in one crawl. They had one Pathan warder to watch over them. The hard upper covering of the coconut fruit was broken into pieces, dried in the sun and was given to the prisoners to pick out threads from them. 'Picking oakum' is the technical term for this kind of hard labour in the prison This labour was hard enough but was not so exhausting and soul- racking as the grinding mill to which they were yoked later on. Ordinary prisoners who could hardly spell the three 'R's were employed in this prison for light desk work and they at once became 'Babus ' But political prisoners were shut out from that work and given hard labour the kind of which their hands had never done. Surely they knew better the art of reading and writing than the prisoners who had hardly spelt its