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

building, and stood near the door of my room. The whole of that crawl was emptied of its inmates because I was to come there. There were a hundred and fifty prisoners in that chawl. Only three warders, the worst of their kind as being tale-tellers, sinners, men of evil propensities, dare-devils, and, for that reason, in the good books of their Officers, were retained in the whole building as guards on me. The rest of the prisoners who had denounced them were ordered to vacate the place All three of them were Mussalmans- two Baluchis and one Pathan. All political prisoners had Mussalmans for their warders. And myself was especially given in their charge, Those who were detailed to keep watch and ward on my room took great pride in that mission. For, thereby, they could boast all over the settlement that they were in the special confidence of their superiors. They were appointed to their place because the Officers wanted through them all the Information that they could get about the political prisoners in their charge-their possible machinations and their secret communications. And the Officers could use the warders as convenient tools to perpetrate any kind of cruelty, to trump up any kind of charge against the prisoners in their charge. They were apt for these nefarious deeds and, being of so much service to them, the Officers usually connived at their gross misdemeanour and their Immoral action, if only they held in check their Hindu prisoners and succeeded in terrorising them. A large portion of political prisoners in that jail being Hindus, and I being among them, these warders were regarded by us as the greatest terror of our lives. It was not unlike the visitation and Influence of a malignant deity. We were Hindus and a Hindu warder may be kind towards us. Hence the authorities put upon us Mussalman warders who reported our movements to them either in an exaggerated form, or Invented stories about us and systematically and heartlessly maltreated us to curry favour with their masters. Since the time that the Silver jail began to be filled with political prisoners, the Hindu warders had fallen from the favour of their masters, and had, consequently, suffered in their rise and promotion. Moreover, the Pathans, as a rule, were bigoted Mohomedans, and were especially notorious for their fanatical hatred of the Hindus. The Officers had pampered them to serve their own ends. To persecute the Hindus was natural to them The result was that they began to harass them all the more and justified their action by reporting fibs against their fellow-prisoners-the Hindu warders. "Barrie Baba" as the gaoler was called, would never countenance or entertain any complaint against his own favourites. Consequently, the Pathan warders had nothing to fear in that quarter Not only did the Hindu warders suffer in promotion and disfavour, but the Muslim warders succeeded more and more in ousting them from their jobs and replacing them by their Pathan brethren. The Pathan always sides with a Pathan. This fact, if it had been a fraternity of good men, would have been a blessing. But here it helped them to connive at the persecution practised by prisoners of their own community against the Hindu prisoners in the jail For the Baluchi, the Sindhi, and the Pathan prisoners had warders belonging to their own religion while the Hindu prisoners were systematically denied that favour. So that the Hindus suffered doubly. First, from their fellow-prisoners, the Muslims, and secondly, from their Muslim warders. Since our admission in that prison, the situation in this respect, had considerably worsened. The Hindu prisoners and the Hindu warders had a hell of their lives in that place. How these happenings had their inevitable repercussions, the reader will know in the course of this narrative and in its proper place. We have barely referred to this matter

here precisely because the reader may grasp their significance later on. The Pathans, the Sindhis and the Baluchi Muslims, with a few exceptions, were, one and all, cruel and unscrupulous persons, and were full of fanatical hatred for the Hindus. Not so the Mussalmans from the Punjab, and less even than they, those of Bengal, Tamil province and Maharashtra. But the fanatical section always belittled and held up to laughter their co-religionists from other parts of India. It twitted them as "half kafirs." And this constant jibe compelled them, very often and perhaps Inevitably, to follow in the foot-steps of their wicked brethren. That emulation did not help them, however, to ingratiate themselves into the favour of their masters, the European Officers. They were always inclined to favour those who were, according to them, their best servants, that is, tyrants and persecutors of prisoners in their charge.

That was one of the reasons for placing me under the close supervision of the most seasoned of these Pathan warders. He worse the designation of Jamadar or Petty Officer, that is a warder, who was himself a prisoner, promoted to a higher rank in the settlement There were three such Jamadars appointed to the task of keeping a close supervision on my movements. The Jamadar who had brought me to my quarters in this crawl, handed me over to these warders, closed the room, locked it, and went away.

Next morning these warders presented themselves before my room and announced that the Sahib was coming and I was to stand up. I came to the door, which was nothing but a barred entrance into my room. Mr. Barrie had come up with his European friends. He had acquired a special Importance with them since my arrival in this gaol. The Europeans in the locality, men and women, were naturally curious to see me and talk to me. And for that purpose they had to burn incense before the demi-god, Mr. Carrie. Mr. Barrie pretended that he was taking them to my room under great risk, and they had to request him, again and again, before he would accede to their importunities. He brought them here under great secrecy, and showed me to them from a distance and, sometimes, allowed them to approach me closer, all the whale making a show that he had done them a great favour and that he was indeed anxious how to explain it to his superiors or how to get over the hurdle. With a solemn air he marched them away always ending with the expostulation: "That will do ! That will do." The intending visitors had to go to Mr. Barrie's bungalow fifteen tames over, before he would yield to their cajoling. I know many a European sergeant and his wife and daughter who had to flatter him thus.

The word "Sarkar" made me wake up and stand before the door according to prison regulations. The first thing I could see through the barred entrance was not Mr. Barrie but the protruding part of his nether region- the stomach. For it bulged out defiant of the world, and ran before him, as it were, to display its circumambient rotundity, not dissimilar to the spherical apparatus in the class-room to explain to the school-children the size and shape of mother Earth Over this circumference, Mr. Barrie had fled his leather-belt. And it marked faithfully the equatorial line on the Earth's surface.

The Indian Mutiny discussed Mr. Barrie began his talk with me in the following words:-"They may be telling you that I am your jailor. Is it not?" I only smiled. He added, "And I assure you I am your friend." The European friends who had accompanied him remained silent. For Mr. Barrie never allowed any one to talk to me directly, except some like him, and to whom he could not deny that privilege. "I like to converse with an educated man like you. Therefore, I come here, sometimes, without any particular reason to do so. They say that you have written an account of the Indian Mutiny of 1857. Am I right in it?" While he was uttering these sentences, I simply listened, with a smile on my lips and an eye upon his countenance. I found out that he had opened the conversation to sound my mind upon the subject, to press the key and start the music. I was Inclined on my side to let him go on and listen, as I felt that the talk may afford me relaxation from the very dull time I had in the solitude of this room. However, I intervened, "I have read a number of books on the Indian Mutiny. That is a fact. " Don't you feel fed up with those monsters of cruelty? Can you put up with their monstrosities? What horrors have alley not committed? My father was himself a victim of that Mutiny He used to tell us that the wicked Nanasaheb had personally tortured English women and put into their mouths XXX. Will you not call them monsters? What else are they?" I asked him if his father was an eye-witness of the scene. He replied, Instantly, that a colonel was an eye-witness when such things happened in Lucknow, and he had reported them to his father "Then, it must be a down- right lie, for Nanasaheb was not then at Lucknow. He was in Cawnpore when English men and women were Imprisoned at Lucknow " Pretending not to hear me, Mr., Barrie continued, "A thousand Instances like this have happened." I replied, "Very true, but there are also a thousand canards to keep them company And as the Instance you have quoted has proved to be a hear-say, so it may be with others as well " One of the visitors who appeared to be a polite gentleman intervened to remark, "But, on the whole, don't you think that Nanasaheb, Tatya Tope and other mutineers like them were selfish men? Will you not recoil from them with contempt?" To him my answer was, "If you desire to discuss the Indian Mutiny with me in this place and when I am a prisoner here, I am ready to do so You must forgets however, for the time being, that I am standing before my jailor, and concede that I am your equal. Otherwise it will be like shutting up my mouth whale you indulge in criticism against my country and its past history in a manner Insulting to her That will be entirely a one-sided affair to which, as gentlemen, you will not subscribe. It will be not only despicable conduct but an act of utter cowardice." Mr. Barrie said, "By no means, Mr. Savarkar. I have already told you that I have come here as a friend. Discuss the matter freely." "Then, I express my opinion without any reservation. I know that you regard me as an extremist As such you will find my views altogether one-sided and unpalatable. I open this discussion to make you think if they are really so. I have never concealed them and I find no reason to conceal them now. This is purely a question of history and if I am to suffer for my opinion on it, I shall not hide it, for I shall never tolerate any one

distorting the history of my country and misrepresenting the principal characters in it. For to put up with such distortion. I regard as timidity and a sin. The British Government had itself appointed a Commission to review a report on the actions of Nanasaheb in this Mutiny And the report has completely exonerated him. The charges made against him, in the particular episode you have mentioned, have been found by the Commission to be baseless and exaggerated statements. They were declared to be emanations from the wicked brain of some soldiers in the English camp at the time." Who, pray, is not selfish? "You have described Nanasaheb and Tatya Tope as selfish men." "Yes, for Nanasaheb wanted back his Raj, and Tatya wanted to pass for a hero", said the visitor. I replied, "Yes indeed, but is it not true also that victor Emmanuel wanted to be the King of Italy, that George Washington desired to be the first President of the American Republic, and Garibaldi wished to be a hero? But strictly speaking they all fought for the Independence of their own country!" "Then, you also raised the revolt to seek independence" Mr. Barrie interposed. "That is a different issue altogether The Indian Mutiny of 1857 does not necessarily justify any revolutionary activity today Nor are we precluded from any such action on the ground that nothing of that kind had happened in 1857 The inference on either side is not only absurd but foolish as well " The visitor, it seemed, had read a book or two on Indian Mutiny. He retorted, "Then you mean to say that the slaughter of English women at Cawnpore by the mutineers is a concocted story " ."I have never said that" I answered. "It is a fact and it is a deplorable fact But the issue is who was responsible for the carnage, and how did it at all happen? The women in that prison-camp were first treated as prisoners of war. And this is proved from the evidence of the survivors, and of those who had independently testified to the fact. I have reproduced that evidence in my work on the subject. When the British army marched on Cawnpore, it set fire to the villages round about Allahabad and kept them burning. And in that fire were destroyed the females of those who had participated in the Indian Revolt The news inflamed the Indian regiments that had joined the Mutiny. Meanwhile, the English women who had been confined as prisoners of war, had sent secret missives to the army marching on Cawnpore. Their messages happened to be intercepted by soldiers in the Indian Camp. All this had contributed additional fuel to the fire that was already burning, with the result that you describe as the wholesale slaughter of English women by Indian soldiers. Both are equally guilty or not guilty If we are to regard these act: as blameworthy, we must blame in an equal measure the excesses of the British army, which were partly responsible for these actions. Do you regard Cromwell's action an Ireland, the massacre he carried on at Drogheda, as an act of monstrous cruelty? Are you ashamed of it? In times of fierce national crisis and revolution, such things are bound to happen. And however regrettable in themselves the

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

and I was resting in my room. It was afternoon. Suddenly I heard a stone knocking against the bars of my room. The stone fell on the ground. It was again hurled at me. It came through the bars and fell right in front of the door. I was standing and went forward to see what it was when the warder, who had thrown it at me, directed me to pick it up. He at once disappeared from the scene. I packed it up and found a piece of paper bound up to the stone. It was a massive to me. I opened the note when I heard a hue and cry in the compound below. I got up considerably startled. I came forward and saw my warder calling out the petty officer above him. I at once concluded that it had something to do with the stone Evidently the Pathan warder must have seen another warder throwing the stone up to me. And he was calling the petty officer either to batch him or to search my room to find out what it was that he had thrown. In a moment the officer was near my door. I could not make up my mind to destroy the missive. For he who had brought it to me at such a great risk must be knowing that it had some important news to convey But I could not conceal it either, for there was no place to do it. In a minute they will open the lock and if they discover the letter all those implicated in the act were bound to suffer. The warder who had brought it, the man who gave it to him, and myself, its recipient, will all be involved in the crime. I resolved, whale I stood in the corner of the room with my face turned to the Jamadar, and yet hiding my body from him, to secrete it on my person where the Jamadar could not find it I had no other alternative in the matter. I turned it in a manner that the writing on it might remain clean and Intact The petty officer came in. He questioned me in a high and insolent tone about the letter. He asked me who had picked up the stone. I answered that I knew nothing about it. The Pathan warder at the door was lost in brown study as he feared no danger whatever, when the stone was being hurled at me. The noise of the stone had roused him from his day-dream, and he saw the warder below beckoning on to me. Suspecting something amiss, he raised the cry that had brought the Jamadar to my room The warder was a Hindu, and anything that could damn him was a gain to the Pathans, for one of them could easily take the place of the dismissed man That was another reason for all this hullabaloo. The petty officer was also a Mussalman. He searched me through and through. He searched my shorts and my waist-coat. He pressed them all over with his hands. And at last he found nothing. Nor did they discover anything on the Hindu warder. And the matter ended there. A warning After they had left the place and after I had assured myself that everything was normal, I took out that paper and read it. The note described to me the situation in that prison, and warned me to be very cautious. Convicts in the Manik Tola Bomb Case in Bengal and three or four editors of Swarajya at Allahabad were all the political prisoners in the jail at that time. The man who had sent that note to me was one of that number and an old Bengali friend of mine He specially warned me to trust none for the mere reason that he was a political prisoner. He had hinted that some of them had turned into Government spies whose only business was to propitiate the gaoler in order to save themselves from the hard labour of turning the oil-mill. They had not only communicated to him the names of the conspirators who were out, but had started backbiting those who were in. Such men should by no means be trusted, and no confidence should be given to

them. That was what the paper conveyed to me. This division in the Bengali revolutionary camp did not surprise me. For I knew that their leaders' arrest had dispirited them and the convicts were busy exposing one another and betraying the cause even in the jail at Calcutta. This was, indeed, an unpardonable action and disgraceful apostasy. All the same, it was folly to tar them all with the same brush. There were many among them who stall showed high courage and were staunch in their loyalty to the cause And even those, whose unbearable hardships had made them fail, must be given their due for past service, for sterling patriotism, and for their sincere sacrifice for the side they had taken None can forget their solid qualities, and, yet, be just to them. The spies at work The ring leaders in the Bengal Conspiracy Case who, as convicts, had been transported to the Andamans, found it hard to bear the trials of prison-life and thought, naturally enough, to somehow escape its harrowing experience Some of them, therefore, conspired to spy on the movements of their colleagues and disciples, and even on me, who had come there but lately and who knew them not They reported us secretly to the prison authorities. They had no scruples about their doings. They did not hesitate to carry on this nefarious business. But we must remember that they were led on to it by the horrible sufferings, the Insults and humiliations, and the physical tortures that they had to endure in this prison. Those, who do not bend or bow under these bludgeonings, have, alone, the right to cast any stone at them; not a Tom, Dick or Harry, who comfortably sits in his arm-chair, and keeps on barking at the world. I had known similar backslidings among political prisoners and conspirators in Ireland, Russia and Italy, and in similar circumstances of physical pain, mental agony, and moral disgrace. And in some Instances the backslidings and apostasy were more disgusting than I had known in my own country Not only politics but religion also had such examples to show and to hold up to shame. It was, therefore, unwise to brand a community or a province as particularly guilty of that crime. And it was worse still to let oneself be depressed by it. "Say it out" Hence I was not shocked by what I had read. On the other hand I pitied those who had been frightened by it I may give here a specific instance in point A prominent Bengali conspirator, who was not more than thirty at the time, used to discourse to his loyal disciples on the Bhagvatgita in order to Impress upon them the mortality of the body and the immortality of the soul He would quote in support the famous text . "No

weapon can slay it, no fire can burn it " The young men who heard him had become fearless of death and were ready to face the worst ordeal for the cause they were championing. But when the leader and fiery writer was himself sentenced to Imprisonment in this jail and saw its stone- walls, and had to faint one day under the grinding labour of running the oil-mill, which even two powerful bullocks could not go round easily, then the body avenged itself upon the soul by trampling it underfoot. His courage failed him and he could no longer bear the hardships of that labour. Again, it was not a question of a day or two. It was a prolonged agony of a life-time. To refuse to work meant added labour and increased agonies. In this dark despair, life cried hoarse to be spared that labour at any cost. What was the way out of it? Where was the outlet from the enclosing walls of these unbearable calamities? There was only one way and one gate. The way was fifth and the gate narrow. That was to report against one's fellow- conspirators. That board-"Say it out"-was ever hanging on the road and pointing to the gate. And who, do you thank, carried tales about this man's despair to the authorities? A friend and no one else. And that friend again, who had himself desired a similar escape ! The matter was reported by the gaoler to the authorities in Calcutta. At last. fine promises were made him in order to trap him completely in the net A drowning man is known to catch at a straw So our Bengali writer and preacher went in jail and fell To enact the drama, the gaoler one day brought in that jail the highest officer of the island. The political prisoners were busy going round the mall. The Officer came to the entrance of this man's cell. The man shouted, "a petition, Sir " The Officer echoed, "What do you want?" He proceeded a few paces, returned and awaited the prisoner. The latter knelt, folded his hands, and prayed. "Do what you will, Sir, but free me from these tortures; that is all I beg of you ." The Officer replied : "You may report to the goaler." The curtain was rung down on the scene, and the drama ended. The betrayal After the Officer had gone, the gaoler sent him ink and paper as pre-arranged. The man started reporting on the Calcutta Conspiracy Case. He gave all the information about it, right or wrong, true or false, as suited his purpose. Naturally, all the other persons involved in the Conspiracy regarded the action as a cruel betrayal. And the man himself had the conscience to feel that he was doing a bad act, though he was too enfeebled in mind to desist from it. He wrote a letter to his friend as follows’ “I can no longer bear the suffering. The only alternative to it is suicide. I attempted it, but dare not attempt it again. You may kill me as you have killed other betrayers of the cause before this. I will not blame you. I must propitiate the Officer by betraying you. I must give him all possible information in order to save myself from the tortures of the body. I have lost control over my mind.” He sent this strange epistle to his friend and passed the other letter, with the names and Information in it, to the jailor. On the third day he was taken off from the hard labour of turning the mill and given the lighter work of picking oakum. He was neither removed from his cell, nor let off from the prison.

The man had, at least, the honesty of feeling that he was doing a reprehensible act, and of acknowledging the fact. Two of his other partners in the act had parted company with their conscience. These found, in my coming to that prison, an opportunity of their life-time. To report everything about me to the jailor, to Invent stories for that purpose when truth had proved of no avail; anyhow to compass the end of redding themselves of the hardships of the prison-life, though they trembled in the act; to prove false to themselves-all this they achieved without the least compunction of the soul. So much were they lost to all sense of shame and decency. It was thus caught between these two inescapable alternatives. I continued my life here on the horns of a dilemma Whosoever reported against me at once became the favourite of the jailor, and got some facility or another in this prison. So to carry tales about me had become, with some of them, a regular and fashionable business. It was no surprise to me that mean and wretched fellows should ply this trade But that these decent men, coming from respectable families, should have stooped so low in order to make their lives easy, and to get some concessions, here and there, was, Indeed, a surprise and degradation beyond my imagining But they did it, making hay whale the sun shone ! Every facility that they had won by this means was an added burden to my suffering in the jail. But that story I shall unfold, as I go on, in this narrative. The note sent on to me had a reference to all Intrigues of prison-life. One section was reporting against the other, and the warning was conveyed that I should be on my guard against the traitors. The letter was couched in a spirit of sincerity and earnestness. I, therefore, decided that until I had convinced myself of the facts, I was to cherish no suspicion in my mind about those who, in the past, had proved themselves bold, fearless, sincere and devoted servants of their country. And even if I knew that they had fallen now, I was to cast no aspersion upon their character and on their former service. The only thing I was to do was to walk warily in my contacts with them and throughout my stay in this prison. Pardon me, please; enough of it' A day or two after this incident, I saw a crowd of prisoners, excluding political prisoners, gathered in the fore-yard of my shawl. Two hundred in number, they were employed in the work of peeling, breaking and cutting to pieces the coconut fruit gathered, in a heap, before them. From his sequestered place on the third floor of my crawl, the Pathan warder was looking on with eager eyes. He felt a hungering for a coconut or two from that heap. His mouth watered to drink the water and to eat the luscious sweet Inside it. His appetite was whetted by what he saw right under his nose He was a favourite with his master, and who will not fear him? Who dares deny him what he asks? The Pathan went down into the court yard, and slapping a prisoner in the face, charged him of eating a coconut. "Look at his mouth, it is too full of it," he fired By this threat at the outset, he had created an atmosphere, as he felt, favourable to his game. For he was confident that none could say no to him, if he were now to ask for the choicest fruit from that heap. The king of fruit is known in the producer's parlance as "Dahi-

Naral"-that is a coconut fruit full of curd-milk-sweet Inside it. Presently, he saw the fruit secreted in the hand of a Madrasi man who was a recent arrival in that prison. Straightaway my Pathan warder went up to him and said, "O, you scoundrel, hand over that fruit to me." But the Madrasi man seemed to be recalcitrant. He was the most notorious dacoit in his part of the country He was a Tamil and, before being sent here for transportation, he had seen life in many a prison and many tames in his own province He was sentenced here for only ten years' imprisonment which he treated as a trifle. He did not know Hindusthani and could very well put off the importunate warder by pretending not to understand him He faced up to him and ejaculated "Ille, Ille"-meaning that he had no fruit with him. That was his peculiar way of putting off any one who happened to press him He had secured the particular fruit by palming off an anna worth of good tobacco to the prisoner whose business it was to break the coconuts. How can then a hardened criminal like him part with his booty to this Pathan Warder? But the haughty warder was sure in his self-importance, that a mere Hindu dare not deny him what he had asked. The warder abused the Madrasi prisoner and ordered him to part with the coconut forthwith The Tamil man at first proceeded on the principle of discretion being the better part of valour. Piteously he wailed, "I have not it, surely, I have not it", pretending ignorance and feigning madness. The Pathan was furious. He flew into a rage. As the quarrel was with a Hindu, it soon turned into a question of religion, and fanaticism put the fat into the fire. He showered abuse after abuse upon his victim. He called him names. "Kafir, scoundrel, let me uproot his tuft of hair', were some of his choicest epithets. "A Hindu, a villain, yes, I must pull it out", so he went on And he put his hand to the Tamil man's sacred tuft of hair. Being ignorant of Hindusthani, he seemed to be confounded by the Pathan's ejaculations and outburst. He thought that the Pathan was asking him to do some good piece of work, and that he was angry because the latter was not doing it. But when the Pathan treed to wrest the fault from him, tile Madrasi prisoner came to close grips with him. It was a veritable wrestle and tug of war between the two None of them cried out halt after it had begun. For both of them had fastened their attention on the bone of contention which was the "curd-milk-coconut".

The whole crowd was enjoying the scene and the Pathan was having the worst of it. The crowd began to titter and Jeer, and the game was getting too hot for my warder. Instantly, he lifted his bludgeon and gave a heavy blow on the Tamil man's head. He also wrenched his turft of hair and had almost uprooted it. The Pathan kept on raining blow after blow, and showering abuse after abuse 'Kafir, scoundrel" was the constant refrain. All of a sudden, the scene changed The prisoner had lost his temper. Without uttering a word and putting his hand straight to his antagonist's beard, he lifted him bodily off the ground and dashed him down in the dust. The Pathan measured his full length upon the earth and the Hindu prisoner sat firmly on his chest. He planted his knee upon it, and gave slap after slap Into his face. The crowd watched the fight with gaping eyes. It did not raise any alarm, for the Pathan man was extremely unpopular with one and all of them. I was watching the whole show from my room, and I was nearly bursting into laughter. The Fez which the warder wore, his turban thereon, all lay in the dust on the ground. Muttering within his laps, the Tamil prisoner was stall belabouring him. He had held fast his beard, and was slapping him in the face. The Pathan broke down completely. No more abusive words danced on his lips. The coconut? There was no more of it.

Instead was the rider belabouring his mule under the stride. Two or three minutes had thus gone and the Pathan, while the slaps were stall hot in his face, begged of his opponent to halt. "Enough, enough, my man, enough, I beg of you, enough." These were the words that trembled on his laps, so done up was he by the hard drubbing that the Madrasi had given him. But this exasperated him still more. Showering abuse for abuse, the prisoner rained fisticuffs on the head of the Pathan. It was the dialect that had made confusion worse confounded. The Pathan had said in Hindusthani-Maph karo-pardon me. The Madrasi caught only the first letter of it Ma, which in Tamil meant mother He took it as the most insulting abuse that one man can utter to another. And so he attached the Pathan all the more vehemently, never understanding that the fellow was all along begging for mercy. "Ma", "Ma", replied the prisoner, and at every repetition felled him with bludgeoning blows. At last the inevitable had happened. The petty officer had arrived, the crowd rushed on the scene, and the combatants were separated. The Madrasi kept on gibbering-saheb-hum-tum-mar-with gesticulations, which Indicated that if the Pathan were to take the complaint to the gaoler, he will not stop short of throttling him. The Pathan is constitutionally a bully and a coward; the threat of the Madrasi, one better than him, completely unnerved him. Again he had broken the law himself, for he had left his post on the top-floor, and gone down into the crowd to purloin a coconut That must go against him. So he ended the quarrel there, and, adjusting his dishevelled hair and turban returned to his place on the top-floor of my building. So was his greed satisfied. For three or more of the sweet coconuts, he had received blow after blow on his mouth and had to swallow them quietly.

"What's the matter? Why this hulloballoo?" I asked him. The warder replied haughtily, as if I had not witnessed the scene, "O, Sir, there was a man there, the rascal that he is, who wanted to steal the curd-milk- coconut". I gave him a sound thrashing." "Well done". I answered, "a thief, and, at that, one who would thieve again, and also in prison! He deserved what he got". The Pathan and myself knew well who the thief was, and who gave the thrashing.

End of Chapter VIII

CHAPTER IX EARLY HISTORY OF THE POLITICAL PRISONERS The Cult of the Bomb The first batch of political prisoners sent to the Andamans consisted of Bengalis Involved in the Manik Tola Bomb Case, and two gentlemen from Maharashtra, namely Mr. Ganesh Savarkar and Mr. Wamanrao Joshi. Soon after them came another batch of six persons from Bengal Implicated in the trial for political dacoity. Of all these, three from Bengal and two from Maharashtra happened to be sentenced to transportation for life Others, who were all of them Bengalis, had been sentenced for three to ten years' Imprisonment. When I reached the Andamans there were the Bengali persons I have mentioned, and four editors of Swarajya from Allahabad with seven to ten years' Imprisonment against them. The latter were sentenced for sedation and treason against the Government and, not like us, for revolutionary crime against the State. Some of these editors were deadly against all revolution and had not even understood its theory or known its practice Their association with us had this advantage, that they had begun to know both the theory and practice of revolutionary movement and had begun to sympathise with it. I must be satisfied with this general statement today for I do not recollect now the trials in which these men were Involved, their names, and their opinions on the Issues in question I remember another being there in addition to those I have already named. As the majority of the first batch were Bengalis, we were all, in prison- parlence, known as Bengalis Later on, the number was swelled by an influx from the Punjab in their hundreds, and several frown other provinces as well So we came to be designated now by the hybrid name-the Bomb- makers. Politicals or Men of the Tongue Those who had never heard the name-political prisoner-could not understand what it really signified. Thousands of such prisoners could, on the other hand, form a distinct notion of bomb-throwing and hence the generic name of bomb-throwers by which all of us were recognised in the jail at Andaman. Whenever Mr. Barrie had to send for any one of us or all of us, he would order the Jamadar in the following words "Go and fetch Bomb- golawalla No 7" or "Go, and gather quickly all the bomb- throwers and shut them up." All understood that order and did accordingly. When I had entered the place, I enlightened my fellow-countrymen on the distinction between the bomb-thrower and the political prisoner. told them we were not charged with the crime of bomb throwing. We were charged and sentenced for agitation to fight the Government, and win and establish Swaraj. Some of us no doubt used pistols and bombs and rifles, but others fought only with their pens. Many had not even seen a bomb; what then of using it ! What we all of

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

rudiments. Perhaps, this was their very disqualification for clerkship within the prison- door. Though picking oakum was a task hard enough, its tedium was relieved by the company of prisoners working in the same crawl. An educated man desires company and association with his equals and, therefore, this mode of working was a solace to him. One or two of these prisoners were ailing and milk was provided for them. It was given to the Pathan warder as an offering to God. And the God -the Pathan-on that account was less cruel to them. All these factors made prison-life for political prisoners less endurable than it is today. My elder brother was in the same chawl. Months passed on in this manner when a high official from Calcutta came to the Andamans to Inspect the prison. When he saw the political prisoners picking oakum in the same tenement and in one another's company, he was, of course, put out by it He passed severe strictures upon local officers for ordering things in this manner These men, he said, were not ordinary criminals-the thieves, the robbers, the murderers, the dacoits and others of that fry. They were entirely submissive and, therefore, praise- worthy men. But political prisoners! They are the worst prisoners in the world and they must be treated in this prison in a way that will break their spirit and completely demoralise them This high policy the official from Calcutta had Impressed thoroughly on the mind of the rude, matter-of-fact, soldierly Officers prison-life for today. The Oil-Mill And everything changed since that time in this prison. A new era had begun. The political prisoners were split up, and put in different crawls, and one in each cell of that shawl If their talk with another excited the slightest suspicion, handcuffs were put on them, and they were subjected to all kinds of punishment. On the tank for a bath or in a row for their meal, if they merely signed to one another to Inquire after health, the sentence for that infringement was to keep a man standing with handcuffs on, for seven days. And to crown it all, the sentence of picking oakum was substituted by work round the grinding oil mall. Yes, they had determined to break our spirit and to demoralise us. So they gave us that hard work to do for two months continuously, then one month on picking oakum, again the grinding work on the mall. We were to be yoked like animals to the handle that turned the wheel. Hardly out of bed, we were ordered to wear a strap of cloth, were shut up in our cells and made to turn the wheel of the oil-mill Coconut pieces were put in the empty and hollow space to be crushed by the wheel passing over them, and its turning became heavier as the space was fuller. Twenty turns of the wheel were enough to drain away the strength of the strongest cooly and the worst, brawny badmash. No dacoit past twenty was put on that work. But the poor political prisoner was fit to do it at any age. And the doctor in charge ever certified that he could do it! It was the medical science of the Andamans that had upheld the doctor ! So the poor creature had to go half the round of the wheel by pushing the handle with his hands, and the other half was

completed by hanging on to it with all his might. So much physical strength had to be expended on crushing the coconut pieces for oil. Youths of twenty or more, who in their lives had not done any physical labour, were put upon that labour. They were all educated young men of delicate constitution. From six to ten in the morning they were yoked to the wheel which they turned round and round till their breath had become heavy. Some of them had fainted many tames during the process. They had to sit down for sheer exhaustion and helplessness. Ordinarily all work had to be stopped between ten and twelve. But this 'Kolu' as the oil-mill labour was called, had to continue throughout. The door was opened only when meal was announced The man came in, and served the meal in the pan and went away and the door was shut. If after washing his hands one were to wipe away the perspiration on his body, the Jamadar-the worst of gangsters in the whole lot-would go at him with loud abuse. There was no water for washing hands. Drinking water was to be had only by propitiating the Jamadar. While you were at Kola, you felt very thirsty. The waterman gave no water except for a consideration which was to palm off to him some tobacco in exchange. If one spoke to the Jamadar his retort was, "A prisoner is given only two cups of water and you have already consulted three. Whence can I bring you more water? From your father?" We have put down the retort of the Jamadar in the decent language possible. If water could not be had for wash and drink, what can be said of water for bathing?

Must finish your quota

What of bath? Even of our usual meal it was the same story. The dinner being served, the door of the prison-cell was locked; and the Jamadar was upon us to see, not if we had dined well, but if we had not already begun our round of the grinding oil-mill ! He paraded through the shawl, halting before each room and announcing to its inmates in bad and threatening words that, come what may, the usual quota had to be completed by evening. He added that otherwise the prisoner would get a sound thrashing from him and some additional punishment from his superior. When we heard this shouting, while we were just at our meat, the morsel in our hand would not go down, and we had to stop eating all at once. For every one of us had seen how a man who had failed to do his quota had a belabouring of kicks and fisticuffs from the august Jamadar, in addition to his bludgeoning him with the stick. The anticipation of this terror took away all appetite, though we were, all of us, indeed, very hungry. We got up, and began our work of pushing the handle and going round the mill like a yoked buffalo, with perspiration dripping down from our face, and its beads falling into the dish we were carrying in the other hand. I have seen prisoners working in this pitiable condition-swallowing, anyhow, the food in their plate, and running round the mill at the same time. The claims of hunger could not be put off while the demand of labour was equally excruciating. The work of the 'Kolu' had to be carried on in this condition till five o'clock in the evening with the hurried meal preceding it, the mode whereof I have already described. Out of a hundred, only one with a callous body could hardly complete his dally quota of thirty pounds of cocoanut oil. The rest took two days, at the least, to crush so much oil out of dried coconut pulp. The novitiates, the simpletons, the Inexperienced, and the honest were the greatest sufferers in the process. They always got the severest beating from the Jamadar,

when they poured out before him the quantity of oil they had crushed from the substance; and they went back to their cells with tears in their eyes and groaning with pain. I see their weeping faces vividly even to this day! The 'Kolu' work at night In spite of this, if any day none of them could finish the quota allotted to them for the day, Mr. Barrie would come upon the scene, when they were all sitting down for their expected evening meal, and announce to the assembly that there would be no grab for them, as they had not done the work; and none would get anything to eat till he had finished his quota. Imagine a prisoner rising with the day; beginning his work at six; tolling at it till eleven; and continuing it without rest till 5 o'clock in the evening; with the morning meal half-finished and hurriedly gulped down or hardly eaten at all; and you will realise the cruelty and injustice of this punishment, if you can at all picture it to yourself. For it beggared description. Some forty or fifty persons could not go through their work with all their will to finish it. But Mr. Barrie would not realise the hardship and the harshness of the imposition He would bring his chair in the shawl, sit upon it, and would see the slackers, as he imagined these fifty helpless creatures to be, going on with their work far into the night. The rest of the prison was, of course, closed for work at night, and no one dared report against Mr. Barrie that this part of the Chawl was being treated at night to this grinding piece of work. If any one dared he was sure to be falsely charged for some offence and put to trouble. Everywhere was the stillness of night; but here the mill creaked on till 8 or 9 P. M. In the meanwhile, Mr. Barrie dozed in his chair; woke up at intervals, his mouth full of abuse, and cursing the labourers that they had not yet finished their day's work." Woe be to them", he would exclaim, "punish them now; do not reserve it for the morrow; cane them, Jamadar, within an inch of their lives; the scoundrels are idlers they are slackers, no mercy on them." And presently he would doze again and snore. Pretext of ailment None was spared, among political prisoners, from the rack of that Inhuman toil. Most of them were unaccustomed to any kind of physical labour; the best part of them were college youths; some had not turned sixteen or seventeen; they were tender in age and body. But they were forced, for months on end, to do this grinding work-Kolu. Their tortures knew no bounds. Among them many had fallen ill, and preferred death to this work. As they became worse, they were declared to be feigning illness. If their bodies burned with high fever, they were shut in their own cells and were never taken for treatment to the prisoner hospital, for they were all "honourable men"- political prisoners ! The thief, the dacoit, the cut-throat had his bed in the prison hospital but not the poor political prisoner! That was the ethics of prison-life at Port Blair ! Fever, motion, vomiting were obvious diseases. But not so, head-ache, heart-ache, stomach-ache and heavy breathing! If political prisoners showed such symptoms, then the diagnosis was

invariably that they were feigning! And the reason given was-they were shirkers. The most hardened of convicts in this prison knew drugs that would make them vomit, pass motions, and even to burn with high fever. And they would use them cleverly when they desired a transfer from the prison-bed to the hospital-cot; no doubt about their feigning in order to avoid work. But if the prisoners preferred 103 to 104 degrees of high temperature to their work on the oil mall, then the fault was not of the prisoner but of the inhuman torture that was such work. And to such racking toil was a political prisoner yoked as soon as he had crossed into the prison ! And worse stall, if he really fell ill as the effect of his work, he was sent mercilessly back to it with the reason that he was only feigning it. To such kind of soul- racking labour was my elder brother yoked. And he was the first to be yoked to it, because he belonged to the first batch of political prisoners transported to the Andamans. An experiment to tame him My brother was suffering from hemicrany as a chronic complaint even while he was free. The hardships of prison-life, physical and mental, with the added work of the grinding mill, had not subdued him, but had made him fierce and fearless. Not a word had escaped his lips about his fellow-prisoners, no piece of Information could thus be wrung out of him, and he never prayed for any leniency from the authorities. That was why Mr. Barrie was persistent in his efforts to 'convert' him, though he had no scruples to treat all political prisoners as if they were animals in his menagerie. In this plight and as a result of Mr. Barrie's coaxings, one day the hemicrany came down upon him with a vengeance. As the day went up with my brother's work round the grinding mall, his headache also pursued him with an increasing pain. He could not bear the heat of the sun, and yet the sweating work had to be carried on, for the Jamadar was ever behind him shouting "Crush, crush, grand on at the oil- mill, don't relax; for I know nothing but to get the work done. Go on." Overborne by this, my brother petitioned to the Superintendent on his rounds that he was suffering from a severe attack of hemicrany. The Superintendent said that it was not his business to attend to him, and the doctor should be sent for. The doctor was an Indian and would say, when he did not find the patient suffering from fever, that there was nothing wrong with him. He directed that the patient should be referred to the jailor. The thermometer, of course, did not register fever. And there was no other test there to detect hemicrany. Hence it must be feigning, especially so with a political prisoner like Ganesh Savarkar. I alone can say who is ill The doctor realised the untruth of his statement. But he was more afraid of Mr. Barrie than of lying. For he knew that the former would constantly goad him in these words:-"Doctor, you know but too well that you are a Hindu and these political prisoners are Hindus. There is no knowing when they will let you down. If any one sees you talking to them without my permission, he may report you to the authorities. So, please,

be careful. If you care for your job you must not say anything about them, do anything for them; you hold a degree but I have more experience than you. I know who feign illness and who do not; so that, be guided by me in these matters. When I say a man is well, he is well; when I say a man is ill, he is ill. Understand me, will you?" He said this as if lightly; and, smiling to himself, he went forward. Once, an hospital assistant realised the pitiable case of my brother and could not contain himself. My brother had severe pain in the head, and the doctor saw him dashing it against the prison wall, and yet carry on his grinding work uninterruptedly. The doctor came up to him and told him that he was removing him to the hospital as an observation case. He asked him to take up his bed and proceed. My brother was making ready to depart, when, on a sudden, Mr. Barrie confronted him, dashing his stick upon the floor. He accosted the Jamadar gruffy, "Where is this bomb-thrower going?" The Jamadar shivered all over, and said, "It is under the doctor's orders, Sir, that I am taking him to the hospital for observation." "Why the hell, did you not ask me? Who is the wretched doctor to give the law here?" Mr. Barrie's voice went like an echo and a thunder throughout the whole building. "Take him back to work", he ordered, "I shall take care of the doctor. I must rate you as well; you, to take him out without my orders?" And he saw the patient back into his cell and at work again. He had the door locked before he went away. The doctor, strictly speaking, was not under the gaoler but under the Superintendent of that jail. But the Hindu jailor and his Hindu myrmidons took great care that no news about the political prisoners reached the ears of the Superintendent As a sequel, the doctor had to eat his words; he apologised to the jailor, and solemnly resolved never more to interfere with the political prisoners, and did not take a single patient from them to the hospital without the permission of the Superintendent. For all others the hospital remained an open door. Prisoners with ten years' sentence against them, those who had broken open the prison itself , had free access to it under any pretext of illness. Permission was never denied to them. It was for the doctor to decide if he would keep the patient or discharge him. Of course, the jailor had no voice in that decision. But, for political prisoners, the hospital ever remained a closed door. With hemicrany and the hard labour of the grinding mill, my brother felt dead-tired by the time he had finished it, and delivered his quantum of oil to the blessed Jamadar. Sweated and exhausted, he tottered to his cell and threw himself at full length on the wooden plank of his bed in that prison, where he groaned the whole night for the pain all over his body. The day dawned again; hemicrany, the Jamadar, the insult to the Indian doctor and the tortures of the oil-mill, stood like grim spectres before him Weeks, months he had spent in this dire condition, and they were to be his inevitable lot, all his life.

Enough of this life

Who can describe the suffering-these agonies of mind and body? I may give you an instance, however, to point the moral. Of all the hardships of prison-life in the Silver Jail of the Andamans-gruelling work, scanty food and clothing, occasional thrashing and others-none was so annoying and disgusting as its provision for urinals and lavatories. The prisoners had to control the demands of nature, of hours together, for want of these arrangements in the cell itself. Morning, noon and evening-these were the only hours

when prisoners were let off for this purpose and at stated time only. It was an outrage to ask the Jamadar for this convenience at any other moment than the stipulated hour The prisoners were locked in their cells at six or seven o'clock in the evening and the lock was opened only after six the next morning. A sort of clay-pot was given them to use it for that purpose during the night. As I have already told you, the prison is called Cellular Jail, because the prisoners in that jail were confined each in a separate, solitary cell. During twelve hours of the night, the warders insisted that the prisoner shall have no occasion to ease himself. The pot was so diminutive in size that one could not discharge into it even once during the night. As for nature's call, one had to go down on his knees to the Jamadar to let him out The warder may or may not take the call seriously. He may be reluctant himself or he may fear the Officer. The prisoner had, therefore, to check it till the morning. If the warder relaxed and carried the matter to the Jamadar, the Jamadar would severely rate the convict for the call at such an odd hour. He would severely reprimand the warder also for having heard the prisoner. He would or would not report to the doctor as his fancy or memory may guide him! The doctor's report on the ailment was never made, or made only in one case out of a hundred. That report had to go to Mr. Barrie and Mr. Barrie would take action upon it at his own sweet will. Imagine the prisoner's condition during the night and during this process of red-tape, particularly when the call was not normal but an abnormal and sudden ailment ! In the morning, Mr. Barrie would sit in judgement upon it, rebuke sternly the warder and the Jamadar for their lapse of duty. When he brayed in this fashion there was no answering him. The prisoner was also cross-examined by Mr. Barrie. And if the former said that he could not help the call of nature, Mr. Barrie turned round upon him fiercely with the ejaculation, "Why the devil did you have it?" And if the wretched creature had the courage to say, "I got it because I got it", the Jamadar would give a slap in the face and scold him for giving such an insolent answer. Usually the prisoner was let off only with this cannonade of words. But Mr. Barrie's particular kindness to the prisoner always ended in an order to put him immediately on the grinding mill! A pinch of Tobacco In this unbearable state of mind, some prisoners found it impossible to control the call of nature and answered it on the floor of their cells. The cell was eight by ten feet, and the prisoner had to sleep with his head near the nuisance he had committed. As soon as the lock was opened for the day, he had to persuade the sweeper to clean the room of the filth. He promised him the much desired tobacco in return. It was well if the scavenger agreed to do so. Otherwise he would cry out for the Jamadar and break the fact to him The Jamadar kicked the prisoner and rained fisticuffs on him if he was meek enough to bear them. If he resisted, the Jamadar instantly took him to Mr. Barrie and lodged complaint against him. The complaint was that the prisoner had dirtied the room. Mr. Barrie passed orders that the prisoner was to clean the room himself or was to be put in the stocks for three to four days. Standing in the stocks meant continuous stoppage of urine and secretion, compulsorily so for four or five hours on end. The sentence was executed between six to ten in the morning, and from twelve to five in the afternoon, during which the prisoner had to stand with chains on hand which were fastened to the

top above him. During this period he was not to be let off for either of the two functions. This hardship all had to bear equally but the stringency of it was felt more by the political prisoners than by others. For whether they worked or not during the day, they were in solitary confinement all along. So during the day, as also at night, to answer the call of nature was prevented in their case as it could not be prevented in the case of other prisoners. Betimes, they had to relieve themselves either on the floor or on the side-wall of their cells. The other prisoners felt neither compunction nor shame about it. They would let themselves off in the face of the passer-by and roar into laughter for doing it. But the political prisoners could not be so brazen-faced. It was a trial to them, when, inspire of themselves, they could not help answering it either in the room or on the wall or right in the public eye The jail regulations condemned as a crime what was simply a function of the human body without making decent provision to discharge it decently. The jail punished the act, as it had banned from its precincts its other needs like wholesome food and decent clothing. It considered all the three as useless luxuries. Ethics of the Andamans My elder brother had to suffer terribly for the perpetration of the crime. And he was given the alternative to pick oakum by way of relief. And he contracted dysentery. He had gripping pain in the stomach as one of its symptoms. The pain and the sensation were acute after each meal. But once the door was locked in the morning, it was opened only for the evening meals Other patients were removed to the hospital for the treatment of the disease. And they could ease themselves comfortably-if comfort that be called-in that place. But a political prisoner was an exception to the rule, till he was entirely bed- ridden by the ailment. When in his cell, the pot that was furnished him was also equally ailing ! The doctor, unless the ailment was acute. could not certify removal. So he had the hell of his life in that sickness. My brother informed the warder and the Jamadar of his acute ailment. But it took two days to reach the ears of the doctor in charge. The sickness had aggravated into diarrhoea. The badly boiled rice made the complaint stall more acute and persistent. Add to it the work of packing oakum and close confinement. So he had to discharge it all over the room. And when the evening revealed it, he had to bear all the abuse about it. The matter was exposed all over the prison, additional punishment followed with disgrace to crown it all. To avoid it all, my bother covered the nuisance under a heap of rubbish in that room and when he was released in the evening for removing the rubbish, he removed the nuisance along with it and swept the room clean Whenever he was put in the stocks and hands were manacled, he had to go for days together without the function But diarrhoea and dysentery could not be put off. So he had to do the double function standing in the stocks and was punished for it. This was not an occasional trial with him as with many other political prisoners. It had become his ordeal for years. He had to stay and sleep in that dirtied room and in that wretched condition of his body all along, and throughout the many years of his stay in the Cellular Jail.