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

“Tatya ! How are you here?" It went like a poniard into my heart. My warder instantly pulled me back lest any one should notice us, and the meeting may grow into words. He was afraid that it may lead to consternation in the crowd, and that would expose all of us to severe punishment by the jailor. We came, we saw, and we separated. That was all of my meeting with my brother. But his words to me I could never forget. Later on he sent me a note drenched in tears : "I had hoped that you were there to carry on our work to success, to win India's battle for freedom. I felt nothing, therefore, of the sentence of transportation passed on me. "I treated it as a trifle. For it was a sacrifice for my country in a cause which you were out to lead on to success, The thought braced me; it made my sufferings a happy portent for the future. But now? . . . . .You were in Paris then, how then did you come to be Inveigled? Who is there after you to keep "Abhinava Bharat" alive and its activity going? How will it function? Your ability, your capacity, and your power, have all gone for nothing; they are buried in the dungeon of this prison. And what of our young brother, Bal? I saw you face to face. And still my eyes would not believe what they had seen. I am confounded by the sight. Alas! Alas! How came you to be here?" It taxed all my patience to reply to that note. Every question that he had put to me had raised many questions which were already preying upon my mend. To brush aside all the yearnings of my heart, to drown the sorrow of my personal failures and of hopes associated with my success, now no more; to console my brother and to pull up myself was a task too great for me at the moment. Yet my will came to my rescue. I swallowed the bitter cup of misfortune. I penned a letter to convince him that 'the prize was in the process", and that failure and shame in such a cause were nothing in comparison with the God- given opportunity to fight in such a struggle. It was a singular good fortune! Was it not, to do what we have done? Why then mourn for the past? My power and intelligence would have been as nought, if I had feared and trembled in the hour of my trial, like Arjuna on the battlefield of Kurukshetra. I did not fall in my duty-in my Dharma, as we may put it. I had betrayed none. I faced up; I burnt myself into ashes; I exhorted my allies to face danger as their duty had called upon them to do; and I passed through the fiery ordeal which I had insisted that others should pass through. That is fearlessness, that is patience and fortitude, and you have done it as much as I. Ours is the victory and not defeat. For failure is no crime as low aim is. Failure is a matter of chance, of adverse fate which none can avert. A Napolean dies as exile at St. Helena on a foreign soil and on a bed of thorns. Does it take away aught from his past triumphs and victories, from his intrinsic greatness? His battle of Austerlitz will ever remain a shining monument to his genius as a warrior; a hero of hundred battles that he was. A Laxmibai of Jhansi falls at the second or third stroke of battle! An unknown soldier dies at the first shot. Is her or his valour the less praiseworthy for such a defeat and death? If I had lived free exposing others to the cannon shot, exposing them to win the battle, but not to see the victory, I would not be worth the name of a leader. I chose to be in their ranks and suffer

the fate that they had suffered. That is the test of worth and will to power. And we have passed the test, and I feel proud of it more than of success and the golden opinions we would have won in consequence of that success. We are both in this prison, but we are going on all the same. We are doomed to rot and die here, we know. And those for whom we had paid our hostages to fortune may be cursing us, no doubt. But that is our life's ideal, as great as to thrive and rise on the tide of fortune, and to hear the applauses of the crowd, and the drums of victory beating in our ears. For failures are but stepping stones to success. We have served our country by our failures; let others serve her by their successes. Yet we consider our failures as glorious as they may regard their successes. The tears of blood that we shed in this dungeon, and our forgotten lives on this earth, are as valuable assets of final victory as the trumpets and drums sounded in the hour of victory in the fields." What of our Cause? "You ask me that question. And my answer to it is no other than the song I composed on the day that the High Court was to deliver its judgment against me. Those thoughts and feelings shall inspire me, when my transportation has thrust me into the jaws of death itself. The lines which I wrote in that song run thus:-The Indian battleline of three hundred million soldiers of liberty led by the charioteer Shri Krishna, and by the warrior Rama,-heroes of Hind, and her invincible ideal- shall not fall back because we are not in it. It will hem in the enemy, it will beat and conquer; it will hold fast the flag of victory and freedom; and it will plant it firm- 'Hind's Oriflamme',-on the snowy summits of the eternal Himalayas-the abode of our holy trinity-Brahma, Vishnu and Maheshwar. Glory to them, glory to Hind; and victory to the battleline of a three hundred million Soldiers of freedom, the soldiers of Hind. That is my faith and that is my solace. " Such was the letter I wrote to my brother and saw that it reached him safely. It heartened him, and it gave me new zest, new hope, and new courage, to do the work I did. End of Chapter X

CHAPTER XI I am put on the Oil-Mill For nearly a month after my entry into the Silver Jail, I did the work of picking oakum. Everyone was wondering how I was not put on the oil-mill. The optimist said, "Now, how can they put 'a barrister-babu' like me on the oil-mill?" I said to him, "They will put me on it with the same mouth that they pronounced the sentence of transportation for life on me!" At last, one day, the Superintendent came to me and said. "From tomorrow you shall have to work on the oil-mill. Oakum must have hardened your hands by now, and you can very well take up that work forthwith " At this Mr. Barrie laughed and said in a banter, "Now you are promoted to a higher form." That evening Mr. Barrie sent for me in his office. In his conversations with me, he had already learnt that I was in full sympathy with the strike that political prisoners in this gaol had organised, and that I had denounced those who reviled the strikers and their fearless stand as work of a fraternity of Insolent, indecent and foolish folk Their mouths had by now been shut by my attitude towards the strike and the strikers. The secret reports that were being conveyed to Mr. Barrie, from day to day, had almost convinced him that, before long, I was going to join their ranks and to be one of these Indecent fools-nay, the very 'prince of fools ' Mr. Barrie had called me to know if I was going to passively resist the new task that had been assigned to me by him and his lake. He was anxious to dissuade me from that course. After talking on other sundry matters, he, at last, came to the point, and said, "You will please realise that I am helpless here, and I must follow the orders of my superiors. They have written to say that you shall be put on the oil mill, and I had no hand in that business. However, I have persuaded the Superintendent, realising your worth, to relax the order in your favour. You shall have to do the work only for a fortnight. I will not put you on it repeatedly as I have to do in other cases. I know you well, I know your worth, I would have you go on with it and not resist it, Go, do it, I will help you as far as I can. Only do not compel me to punish you." To which I answered, "I will do the best I can. I will work as far as I can help it. My life is already a heap of ashes, and I have no desire to bring more trouble on my head." Mr. Barrie pretended to be overcome, and said, "Look here, I am telling you all this in your best interest You have fifty years to pass in this jail. It gives a shock to me to realise it. So I pray that you will keep aloof from all further entanglements. Let others do what they lake. You should have nothing to do with them." His constant allusion to my sentence had ceased to shock me or to unnerve me. The more he repeated it, the more callous I became towards it. It was like the artillery man whom the constant sound of the whizzing cannon-ball had ceased to frighten and unnerve. The next morning I was yoked to the oil-mill I had my solitary cell in Barrack No. 7. The oil-mill work had to be done in a cell

of Barrack No. 6, close by. So they removed me there early in the morning In a sense, I was delighted with the change of quarters. For there I saw some of the political prisoners and they could occasionally exchange a few words with me. I entered the cell and found a Burmese prisoner put to work with me on the same oil-mill. He was there, I was told, to lighten my work Were not two to a yoke better, any way, than one? But I must not, they insisted, in any way, slacken; I must push the handle and go round the mill continuously, unfailing and infesting. I had been better treated than any other political prisoner but it was 'Kolu' after all. The labour on it, however lightened, was more than enough to exhaust one who was not habituated to the task. I put on the barest piece of loin-cloth round my waist. My work began precisely on the hour of six and it continued unbroken till ten. The continuous round gave me a sensation of dizziness. My body ached all through, and, as I lay upon the plank of a bed for rest and sleep, I felt feverish so that I could not sleep soundly as I did before. Wake up I must the next morning and resume the work. So it went on for a week, and I had not finished my quota. One day Mr. Barrie came to my room and said loftily, "A prisoner in the next room gives me his daily quota of thirty pounds of coconut oil, at 2 p. m. sharp, every afternoon. You have worked till evening and still you fall short of two pounds You must be ashamed of it " I replied, "Yes, you are right; I must be ashamed of it. But when? If I had been inured to hard physical labour like him from my early childhood. Each one to his work, that I know too well Let him compose a sonnet in an hour. I will do it for you in half an hour. You will not, on that account, be justified in crying shame upon that prisoner; you cannot say that he had shirked the work He can well retort, 'No body taught me the art of poetry in my childhood Hence you cannot expect me to do it now.’ You employ in your office unlettered peasants, robbers and dacoits for writing work If they do not speak fine English like you, surely enough. you do not blame them. And they are not ashamed of that drawback. Equally I need not be ashamed if I cannot turn out as much work from the oil-mill as my next-door prisoner does. Those really are to be ashamed of it who yoke intellectuals like us to the oil-mill, and employ hodmen to do the work of a desk. They fail both ways, for they do not get the best out of either." Generous friends come to my help While I was turning the oil-mill, one or two of the political prisoners, my neighbours, who could slip in unnoticed always came to help me from time to tame. Some of them washed my clothes, even with my protests to the contrary, though they had more than enough of their own hardships to bear. And they cleaned and washed my drinking pot and my dining plate as well. The petty officer and the Jamadar often reproved them for it, and even beat them occasionally; but like true friends they helped me on in my daily work. I tried many times to stop them. I washed their clothes without their knowledge, which, when they learnt, gave them exceeding pain. They laterally went down on their knees and besought me to refrain from it. When I realised that my not allowing them to do my work, and my doing their work on the sly, both harassed their mend, I thought it the better part to let them do what they liked. On the whole, I found all of them affectionately disposed towards me Their selfless devotion for me touched my heart Sometimes, there was a regular rivalry among them to serve me, and it went the

length of making them jealous of one another Then I had to let them wash my clothes by turn. My heart still goes out in gratitude to these political prisoners when I recall their unstinted generosity and their deep friendship for me I also feel it my duty to put on record in these pages all that I owe, in help and kindness, to my ordinary brethren in that jail, and for the respect they ever paid to me. I can tell many a story of their "unremembered acts of kindness and love". But I must not do so, and I record here my deep gratitude to them all. The mind revolts To speak to none, to discuss with none, and to keep on looking at my naked body so shabby, so dust-covered, so sweated by the work on the oil-mill, a work that I had to do for the best part of the day. The body used to be full of perspiration, the dust thrown up by the turning wheel of the mill as it crushed and ground down the pieces of dry coconut fruit for oil, with other dust mixed up in it, had clung to it all over,-this was the experience from which the mind revolted with disgust. It went on like this from hour to hour, from day to day, and, who knows, it might continue from month to month, and lengthen out into years I began to hate myself. "Why should I bear it?" my mind asked me, "this your body and this your power, of what use are they to you now? What will you, and what can you, do with them to liberate your country, to revive its spirit, and to cover it with glory? Nothing, nothing at all, now and forever. Your body, your mind, your will and your power-they are all dust now in this darkness of your prison-house. And no more will you see light, no more the way out. The world knows not of your sufferings, and will not care to know. What effect, then, can it have upon the world? Thus you are of no use to yourself, no use to the world, nothing for the cause, nothing for mankind. A burden you are on earth, why then live? Why not end it all? A cord, a noose, a pull, and finis." So did my mind torture me and argue with me. End it all Your power to will and to persist was given to you to agitate the minds of your people, not unlike Mount Meru of Indian legend given to the Gods and the Demons to churn the ocean. Now they will be used by you to churn What? No better than to use the rod of Mount Meru to churn the curds for butter-milk! Why disgrace your gifts thus? Again and again the mind would revert to the same topic. "To live is futile; to die is honour", it would persist in admonition. Novalis and other foreign writers have said much in defence of suicide. It sometimes becomes an act of duty, as they preached it. And I recalled all their sayings in this perturbed state of my mind. One day, in the hottest part of the noon-and it was particularly warm that day-! was turning the 'Kolu', almost panting for my breath. All of a sudden I felt I was fainting and sat on the ground. My stomach had become hard like stone; the bowels within had

stiffened; I supported myself against the wall; I shut my eyes and fell into a stupor. I do not know how long I was in that senseless condition. Suddenly I woke up from that deep state of unconsciousness. For a few minutes I knew not where I was, and what I was doing. I had lost all sense of time and space. Deep peace of nescience, state of perfect bliss, complete self-forgetfulness, body, mind and soul merged into one, and the sense of personality gone from them-this was what I seemed to experience in that happy mood which lasted but for a few minutes. Life in death and death in life, as it seemed to me then! And then I came to myself. Objects around me became clearer, one after another. And I resumed my work. My mind was ever goading me:-"Why don't you finish that work? Death is no torture. You have experienced it now,- complete self-forgetfulness and the peace of nescience. Thousands of prisoners have used the means to attain that nirvana. Why do you hold back? Don't, take a piece of string and strangle yourself. End all this trouble thus. Why not?"

The lure of Suicide

The whole day passed in this obsession of mind. Suicide-that one word was luring me on. Death was nothing but that indifferent state I had lately experienced. And it was, Indeed, better than my present. state. Twice did this mood come over me. Once when I was re-arrested at Marseilles and was proceeding through Aden to India. The sea was a blazing furnace of fire, so hot we felt round about Aden; I was then in the lock up on a cabin, distressed in mind and heated in body. And now irk the Andamans, working on 'Kolu', when the brain became dull and the body fabled me. A wrestle within me between reason and desire, when reason had almost gone under! The same was to happen to me twice in the future. That night as I lay on my bed, my eyes were rivetted on the barred window, where I had known that prisoners before me in the room had hanged themselves and taken leave of their lives. I listened to that controversy between reason and desire as a third person, and I wove it into a poem later on. Again and again the voice of reason would admonish the voice of desire in some such words: "Fool, how proud, how vain you are! Let us believe that you were meant to do great deeds of heroism and national uplift. But what of it now? The human machine is now useless for you; now you say May be, granted that it is true. Have not thousand such machines been completely shattered prior to this? Why not use the machine that God gave you for humbler ends? Why break it with your own hands? Silent, unknown tortures-to bear and endure them-is also a part of its work. In national work, on a stupendous scale, one has to fight and conquer from point to point, from stage to stage. This may be a stage in your onward march to success. This is, perhaps, the hardest stage, the tightest corner that you have to turn. Will you turn away from this part of duty? Rather stay on and fight, fight at bay if you must. That is also a compliment to the human machine which you will so recklessly destroy." And if you must die then

Die fighting Kill one enemy of the country and then expire. Why die like a coward? Your tribulations must influence the country, however small that influence may be. And if you don't believe it, and if you conclude that they shall have no repercussions outside, even then why need you hang yourself? It is dying like a dog. They did not send you to the gallows. Consider why? Were they smitten with compassion? No; they did not hang you because they thought it impolitic to do so. Now, if you hang yourself, you will be only playing into their hands. You will add to the failures and ruin of your party. Why, then, quit the world thus? It will be a distinct disservice to the cause, which, you yearn, should prosper You are a soldier in this war of freedom. Then die like a hero. Do not commit suicide, but kill and die in the fight." Reason, when it argued with desire in this fashion, convinced and won me over to her side. I had become desperate. That mood of desperation was conquered, and I recovered my poise once again. If I resolve to die, I die only thus Not only did I make up my mind to die bravely, but I persuaded all my friends and disciples in that pall that it was their duty, in virtue of the pledge they had taken, to die like heroes. I thus saved many a lonely and wretched human being in that place from the verge of suicide. While working at the oil-mill and with all the fatigue that the work involved for body and mind, I had one compensation in it and that was the chance I got there to talk to my political friends These came to me either by connivance of their jamadars and warders, or by eluding their watch They kept on talking to me as long as they could safely do so. Most of that conversation took place after five in the evening whale others were busy arranging for our dinner, and during the hurry and bustle of that business. We gathered together then on the resting place of the reservoir in front of us. One of us kept the watch and the rest engaged themselves in talk. We had free and candid exchange of opinion on the question which had all along occupied our minds and for which we had sacrificed our lives. The talk went on like a fresh breeze through our souls and thoroughly revived us The fire that had smouldered blazed once more. Insults and humiliations were welcomed as ants of grace What we had suffered paled into insignificance, and what was to come we resolved to face as "the stern daughter of the voice of God", would dictate it to us. These moments of freedom from the harrowing teeth of the Kolu were, indeed, blessings from that Goddess. Most of the political prisoners of my time were not more than twenty- five years old. I found their education defective and

incomplete. They had read nothing of history, politics and economics. It was not a strange experience, and that did not diminish aught from their patriotism and self- sacrifice. On the other hand, I felt a sort of respect for them because they had suffered so much for the cause Inspired by noble motive and thorough disinterestedness. If only they had added adequate knowledge to their sterling enthusiasm, they would have better fitted themselves to advance the cause so near to their heart I, therefore, resolved to make up the defect in them by proper study and wise guidance. First, it was necessary to awaken in them this desire for study and guidance. And my conversation with them had this principal object behind it. I began my work as soon as I was set to my new labour on the oil-mill. Some of them had begun to despair that their life had gone in vain. I had to draw them out of this 'slough of despond' I quoted to them examples from history. Those who had doubts, I gave reasons to overcome that doubt Those who were merely caught in the 'whirl-wind of agitation, I convinced why it was right to do what they had done I thus succeeded in reinforcing their will and confirming their zeal After the tiresome and soul- killing toll of the day, the evening meeting was a happy, though brief, respite to them all. They talked freely, they imagined boldly; they revelled in happy dreams of the future; and they recovered the balance of their minds and the poise of their souls. Their courage to fire and to endure was deepened; its blinted edge had recovered its sharpness; and, when they dispersed, they went away, each to his cell, taking leave of one another, like happy and loving brothers. It was there that I enrolled them and other prisoners of the settlement as members of my "Abhinava Bharat". It was here that they took their solemn oath to be true to the cause and serve it ever with their lives. End of Chapter XI

CHAPTER XII Consolidation and Propaganda in the Andamans While I worked on the 'Kolu', I had an opportunity of knowing much, not only of the condition of the political prisoners inside the jail, but also of the situation in the Andamans as a whole. In spite of a thousand obstacles in their way, those who had learnt to love and admire me put themselves into contact with me and gave me news about the islands. I, therefore, felt that even from this, prison I could do some work of consolidating our forces in the Andamans. Of course, it demanded strenuous efforts and I was prepared for it. The Work Begins To rot here and suffer all kinds of hardship had become the part of our daily duty, and we had to bear that burden all our life. May we not, then, take this additional burden upon our shoulders which was an essential part of our service to the country? Why not then acquire the double merit for which Providence had marked us out? We would suffer gladly for her in this prison, and we would work strenuously for her outside. Inspired by this feeling, I set out on that larger work by first educating those whom I considered to be in my charge. Education of Political Prisoners Within a fortnight I put myself in contact with such of the political prisoners as had come into our struggle by the force of driving whirlwind, as it were, and whose convictions were yet shaky about the means we had employed. They did not entirely favour our adoption of violent methods to reach the goal of independence. I explained to them the whole position; and, while the jailor had put me under the yoke to tame me down, I made these men take an oath to join us in the proposed work of consolidation. This was the beginning of my work for the Andamans. How that work developed and spread out, I cannot narrate in full in these pages. I will tell as much of it as I can during the course of this story. About a fortnight had passed when I was relieved of my work on the oil-mill. I was put upon the work of weaving the strand. This was the easiest of all hard labour in this jail and it was considered a piece of good luck to have it. After a few days' practice at it, I found it easy to weave the strand, and I felt that the strain on my body and my mind had considerably lessened. I had been taken back to my room on the top-floor of Barrack

No. 7. But on this occasion, I had, for my neighbours, two to four political prisoners. They were there in spite of the jailor, it seemed, for the jailor and the other authorities of the prison had made it a point never to bring them into touch with me. But when all possible cells outside this chawl were full of them, they could not but accommodate four of them in the building that I had occupied. The Superintendent and the jailor told me plainly, on more than one occasion, that if I would turn them into moderates, I could have the company of educated men to live with. Whenever a new recruit came in this prison, he was always locked up in a cell near to those of such `educated' political prisoners. But none was kept for a long time in one cell, or in the same group. To avoid risk, their place and their grouping were changed periodically. That was a Holiday in this prison Such a day was always marked in the prison calendar as a holiday for all of us. For this change of batches and places occupied the best part of the day, during which we had no work to do. Besides, prisoners, moving from one place to another, always jostled one another. Thence they could at least see one another and, at times, exchange a few words as well. But the best of it all was that we could know then who were the newcomers to this jail. We could make their acquaintance as well as secure their membership. Though I was invariably confined in chawl No. 7, and although, as a rule, no other prisoners were sent to this chawl, I found this day the best holiday of the month. For I could see on that day my elder brother going from one place to another. And if I could pre arrange it, I could also exchange a few words with him on that day. As this mode of exchanging prisoners and places, every one or two months, afforded us an opportunity of contacting one another and of exchanging a few words between us, so we had other means at our disposal to establish communication with one another Each room in our crawl had a barred window at the top and an iron grating on the floor and in the side wall for purposes of ventilation. The seven divisions of the Silver Jail were built in the form of petals spreading out from a common centre As such the courtyard of one opened on the back yard of another. And a man standing in the barrack of one division could see and communicate with a man standing in the barrack of another. One from the shawl of one division could communicate with the rear of another division, and one from the rear of another could carry on with another in the courtyard of another division. Each had only to hang up to the barred window at the top or peep through the trellised grating at the bottom. Talking from the top-windows But to hang on to the top-window was a dangerous experiment. Therefore, we put the plank, on which we slept at night, straight up beneath the window and, supporting ourselves on the edge, peeped through the window-bars to talk to a man who, from his

window, was talking to us But the hands and feet had a heavy strain on them in this process. We often talked to a person on the floor beneath ours Sometime, in this brief talk, we exchanged thoughts and solved doubts on Politics and political Economy. Suddenly, if we heard the footsteps of a Jamadar coming in our direction, we had to throw ourselves down from a height of twelve feet, which meant falling sheer on our buttocks. The teacher and the disciple had to disengage themselves from common study without a minutes notice, and both were hard put to it to escape unnoticed. Many a political prisoner received a severe shock to his nether part and even an occasional injury to his body in this unusual art of learning The second way in which we carried on our communications was to talk through the trellised iron grating in the side-wall close to the floor. The grating was so fixed at the base of the wall, that none could see through it in the room beyond. It was a cleft in the wall, so to say, for pure ventilation and nothing more. Sometimes, on the other side of the grating, prisoners were made to sit for dinner. It was an opportunity for conveying messages to one another. The dinner was prolonged on their side, and, putting our mouth close to the trellis-work, we spoke on this side, it was a telephone call between the two The grating was the machine, which, in prison- parlance, came to be recognised by the name of telephone. Only the trusted ones exchanged messages on this telephone. It began with ringing the bars with one's dining plate; and that was the call which started the message. When the telephone would not work, we started the telegraph, of which presently. Thus through several devices improvised on the spot, we kept our touch with one another; and the business went on more briskly, the more they tried to prevent it They would detach and separate us, they would prevent us from talking by signs, and they would put all sorts of obstacles in our way. But, undaunted, we went on with our propaganda work in the prison. As I have said above, it began with the two or three political prisoners who had been lodged in the same crawl as I. Soon after, I was taken away from the work on the oil-mill. And I began to teach them. They were not all uneducated men; they had all passed their Matriculation Examination, and had spent some time in the F. Y. classes of their college. But they had no education in political science and constitutional history. When I started giving it, the first difficulty I felt was of suitable books. Lack of Books I was deprived, at Thana, of the few books that I had. The books, in possession of certain prisoners in the Andamans, were of an insignificant character.. The books of Ramkrishna Paramahansa, of Swami Vivekanand, of Tolstoy like 'My Religion' and others, of Mrs.

Annie Besant on Theosophy and her theosophical magazines, were all our stock-in-trade Of these books, they could get to read only on Sundays The warder carried them from door to door like vegetables in a net-like bag, and distributed them to the prisoners. In the evening he took the books back again. Every day a prisoner got one book to read from his own collection between the hours of four and six in the evening. It had also to be returned to the warder at a fixed time. The prisoner was prevented from reading anything during the working hours. And he could not read at night because it was complete dark then. Again, the strict regulation of the prison forbade one political prisoner from transferring the book that he was reading to his next door neighbour Mr. Barrie had laid down the law that each was to read his own book, and no exchange of books was to be tolerated An ordinary Illiterate prisoner could not finish a small book during a week. But to ask a political prisoner to confine himself to one small book during the week was the height of tyranny. If any one broke the law so laid down, the warder and the Jamadar had the opportunity of their life to show him up. He was dragged to Mr. Barrie, tried by him, and the book, snatched from his hands, was evidence enough to punish him. The Jamadar exulted in the detection of this offence and Mr. Barrie was proud of his servant's masterly vigilance "This fellow gave and that fellow received it!" That was the howl they raised and the Superintendent was in extreme anger. The trial was enacted and those, guilty of the offence, were sentenced to be manacled for four continuous days. To read a book not his own for a few hours of the day got him the punishment of standing up for four days with the chains on his hands fastened to the ceiling above his head! The sentence was passed upon them no doubt to help them meditate on the sayings of Ramkrishna Paramahansa which he or they had read in the book so purloined! Mr. Barrie was their greatest enemy in that respect The great 'pandit' opened that the reading of books had turned the heads of these youths About a certain gentleman he had said to me distinctly that it was the reading of books on theosophy that had made him mad. He, of course, referred to the political prisoner who had defied all the prison orders about dining, resting and working on the 'Kolu'. He objected to books of Ramkrishna Paramahansa and to books on Theosophy as hair-brained trash. May be, but what of books on politics, the hard- headed stuff that they were? No, he would allow them neither. He was a learned man, indeed, for he had not progressed beyond his fifth form. And he was to decide what books the prisoners were to read or not to read Mr. Barrie opened a book, turned over its few pages; if it was not intelligible to him, he at once condemned it as "nonsense and trash"; a rigmarole he called it and threw away. On the other hand, a book may approve Itself to him by its jejuneness and poor stuff; but if it contained a word like 'nation' or country, it was at once put under lock and key by Mr. Barrie, segregated like plague germ. declared untouchable like high treason. Mr. Barrie used to say, "We cannot allow our prisoners to read this dangerous stuff, for these, with their frequent allusions to countries and nations, had turned these men into violent agitators". What of books on theosophy and Yoga? His answer was, he would not let them in; but the Superintendent had allowed them and he had to submit.

A Hater of Books There were many reasons why Mr. Barrie hated books. One of them was that he had himself very poor education and was smitten with jealousy for the political prisoners who were better educated than himself. Secondly, these did not bend their knees to this demi-God of Port Blair; they burnt no incense before him. Some of the Superintendents also objected strongly to any kind of reading. A prisoner may chew tobacco before him and many tames Mr. Barrie did not mind it, and he called it kindness and leniency But if a prisoner was found with a slate or pencil or with a book, Mr. Carrie would fly into rage and burst out, "You scoundrel, you want to read and write. This is no school. Why did you not learn it at your father's? Send him on to the oil-mill, put him on 'Kolu', confiscate his book, his slate and pencil." Their Effect In a sense and from his point of view, Mr. Barrie was right. We know how in their exile, the Pandavas used to be down-pressed, how they would pity and condemn themselves. They were tortured by their mends for what they had brought upon themselves; despair and melancholy overcast their souls, and they forgot their own valour and greatness. Then Dhaumya and other sages narrated to them stories of Nala and Rama to put courage in their hearts and teach them to defy misfortune and cruelties of fate. And these stories from the past put a new hope in their hearts. Similarly, stirring ants of former heroes in history, poetry and romance, or discourses on the immortality of the soul from the Upanishads and the Bhagwatgita would prove a tonic to the shattered hearts of our political prisoners. That would Imbue them with the spirit of defiance. That would fortify them against all onslaughts of the severest persecutions of prison-life. Was it for this that they were incarcerated in the Andamans? How could, then, the doorkeeper of the Silver Jail let in such incendiary stuff within its portals? Will he not be false to his charge? Will he be true to himself and his calling if he allowed such matter to spread among his prisoners and influence their mends? But their argument against reading books was just our argument for reading them. I began my work of teaching them without any books to start with. They learnt and taught by word of mouth. We used to gather every evening on the reservoir of our prison. I utilised this time to give them talks on history. Sometimes we were interrupted, sometimes punished for disobedience, and sometimes we could go on with these evening meetings with the connivance of our warders And on occasions, even if the political prisoners were caught in the act, they told the warders boldly that they were having some talk, of course they had to face the consequence of being hand-manacled. This way, week after week, we continued to meet and I discoursed to the political prisoners on the History of India from its early beginnings in the Vedas down to our own day. I drew their

attention particularly to the heroic deeds of the past. acquaint them with the lives of its outstanding personalities, and of epoch-makers in that history. I then took them similarly through a course of European history. told them of heroes like Napoleon, Mazzini and Garibaldi and gave them an insight into the contemporary history of tottering Russia and the great revolution that was going on there against its monarchy. From that course in very broad outline, I took them in a course on the elements of economics, politics and theory of government. The lectures were followed by discussion and the political prisoners who would gather together for them began to take deep Interest in the subject. As their number Increased in the prison, and as the wave of strike and resistance. fight and opposition, spread like wild fire among them, the Officers, just to pacify them, allowed us to sit together for a longer time, read what we liked, talk as we chose, so that we may work and not trouble them any further. At this stage mere conversation of an evening took a turn into a regular meeting for settled study.

The Sunday Meeting

Throughout the week we continued to meet every evening at our appointed place on the reservoir. But, in addition, on every Sunday morning till the hour of nine I used to sit together with nine or ten of them who happened to be in my immediate neighbourhood and gave them regular lessons in subjects which I have already mentioned. At nine we were taken out for weighing our bodies or cutting grass. I used to allot to each of them a particular subject for study. The student had just to tell me what he already knew about it. Then I carried on discussion with him. And we ended with the singing of our national song This meeting was all a hurried business and not like an elaborate study in a class- room. For, in the very midst of it, some one would announce the arrival of Mr. Barrie, or we were afraid that a jamadar would appear suddenly on the scene. Then we were all told off to cut grass, and asked to disperse. As soon as we smelt a cat, we ran helter-skelter to our holes, like the proverbial mice. The lecturer and the audience had both to cut short the meeting, and distribute themselves, some on the field, some behind the iron-sheets and some to clean their pots and pans. And we met again as soon as the alarm was no more, as described in the famous lines of the poet, "Let the legions thunder past and plunged in deep thought again. " After their rout some faint-hearted individuals would point out in self-condemnation, the futility of it all, when I had to remand them of the prayers of the early flying Christians. When these had to follow Christ, in defiance of the tyranny of the Romans and the persecution of the Jews, they lived up to his Commandments by praying in catacombs, round the graveyard and in prison vaults, whenever five of them could assemble and hearten one another Sometime they had just knelt down in these secret places lifting up their faces to God, when they would hear the foot-falls of the Roman legion pursuing them, and instantly they had to disperse and hide themselves. But, when it had passed, by they would return and pray as before.

Such were our prayers also The Sunday meetings had as their adjunct prayer and bhajan to end them. This addition I had made that our spirit may be sustained an the depressing atmosphere of our normal prison-life, so that our meeting and our prayer were of a like nature to that of the early Christians. I kept on this Sunday bhajan for years together in my prison-life We had discussions, political, religious, literary, linguistic and scientific at these weekly meetings. I felt happy that what I had at our Sunday meetings at Nasik in my very early life, what I continued in Poona and later on in Bombay, and when I had gone abroad, an England and elsewhere, I could resume in the Andamans and in the Silver Jail presided over by a man like Mr., Barrie. I could thus keep up my resolution. I could offer my daily sacrifice, I could perform my daily 'yadnya' in the little space of the family fire-hearth (my prison) as I had performed it in the spacious spaces of the world's altar And that was how, by the grace of God, I could keep the fire burning. In addition to 'flying meetings', we had discovered other means for the propagation of knowledge. These were the high, spacious, white-washed walls of our apartments. With the pointed thorns of the cordage plant, we used these walls as our writing tablets For in the prison-cell no political prisoner was allowed the use of a scrap of paper or the end of a pencil to write on it. The thorn was our writing Instrument and the wall was the paper to write on. The prisoner, inspire of close scrutiny and strict vigilance, managed to have on his person pencil and paper to write on. He concealed them in his tuft of hair, in his mouth, from one hand to another, and, last of all, where they could least suspect to find them. Search them how you will, the things were never found out. But these were not enough for the propagation of knowledge. And I am not going to let you, besides, into all the secrets of our prison- life. Some tricks and stratagems and subterfuges one must always keep to oneself, perhaps, for future use! With all our handicaps, the prison-wall proved to us of Immense use in writing out our notes and discourses on the subject of study on its spacious surface. The very first year a difficulty arose to damp our spirits. We were studying the elements of Geology from a book published by the R.P. A. Series. It was my habit from boyhood onwards to summarise a book and note its Important passages in a separate exercise- book. And this habit proved of Immense use to me. For I could draw upon my memory to reproduce the contents of the Important books I had read and even to quote notable passages from them. Accordingly, I made an outline of geological time from that book on a sheet of paper which I somehow procured for that purpose. I returned the book on the following day and, when my room was locked for the evening, I took out the paper and began to read it, when, to my surprise, the overseer came up, stamping his shoes, approached my room and opened the door He searched my room right through. It was not an unusual experience for me, for my room was searched like this three times previously and during the same day. Let any one whisper into the ears of Mr. Barrie that "Bada Babu" had something with him, and 'search' was the order that followed. When he had found that not even in two per cent of such reports was there any substance, he gave it up. But this change come after seven or eight years. That day, however, when the overseer surprised me in the act of reading that paper, it became impossible for me to hide it.

A Sudden Onslaught The overseer picked it up and asked me what it was. I told him that it contained my notes. Whereupon he strictly enjoined me that I was not to make notes in this fashion from any book given me in this prison. But, anxious as he was to make a political capital out of this episode, he subjected that paper to the closest scrutiny. He held it up in light and against the just lighted lamp, and began to read it minutely. What did he find in it? Words like Pliocene, Miocene, Neolithic, which were abracadabra to him. "What cipher is this"? he questioned me and showed from his face that at last he had caught me. I told him in a light-hearted mood, "It was the language of geology." He then muttered something to himself and calling the Jamadar, asked him to bring me to his office the following morning, and that he was going to prosecute me. Accordingly, I was taken to the office the following day, I was treed for the offence, but, it being my first offence in that prison, I was warned and discharged. And for two following weeds I was to get no book to read. The question then arose how I was to summarise and make notes of the books I was reading The political prisoners must have summaries of the weekly lectures I had given them. How were they otherwise to remember and make progress in their knowledge? Where was I to get so much paper and writing material? And, if at all I could procure it, where was the place to hide it? Suppose I were to write sheet after sheet who will be able to read them under the very nose of the supervising warder and Jamadar? All of a sudden and whale I was cudgelling my brains, I suddenly happened to look at the wall and there I found the paper to write on. A white- washed wall-a paper-a broad sheet to write on ! What a relief the discovery gave me. The wall-a paper; the cordage plant-thorn-a pencil I had already treed an experiment of that kind in the jail at Byculla when I wrote on the wall with the sharpened point of a stone I sought to perfect it in the Silver Jail of the Andamans. And I made a full use of it till my release from here after a full period of fourteen years' imprisonment. I used to hide a pointed nail in the bolt of my door. And as soon as I was locked up inside the room and the door was shut, I would began to write on the wall with that pencil in columns which I drew upon it. All the wales of the 7th crawl were thus scrawled over and each constituted for me a book by it self. For example the cell in which I was confined to weave the stranded cord was written with a full outline of Spencer's 'First Principles.' My poem 'Kamala' was composed and copied in full on the walls of this seventh division. In another cell I wrote all the definitions of political economy as I had learnt from Mill's Work on the subject. My object was that when I was changed from that room to another, a political prisoner, brought in there, may learn those definitions as he was learning that subject from me, With a little management such a student could succeed being put up in this lock-up. He could then learn them off in a month before his turn came for transference elsewhere. As I was being changed from division to division I saw to it that every division and every cell in that division had its writings on the walls from my improvised pen. And the political prisoners who had turned students took the fullest advantage of these written tablets-their books of study in

this lonely place of a prison-house books FL utilised in this manner all them. Three means I employed in my opportunity to train that laborious task of self-education. These were lectures delivered at Sunday meetings, oral Instruction on every other occasion of personal contact, and, lastly, the use of the prison-walls for purposes of writing. One great draw-back But the life of these writings on the wall could not be longer than one year. They could not last for centuries like inscriptions on the bricks of Babylon. Every year the wails were being white-washed, and, as the process went on, the writings on the wall began to perish. They were completely effaced. Hence the month before this operation was my month of serious and Intensive repetition, not unlike the time-honoured recital of the Rig Vedas. I had to recall all the verses that I had composed in my mind and scrabbled on these walls, and learn them by heart during this transition period. But there was one advantage in using this wall as a sheet of paper to write on For, though the writing lasted only for a year, the fresh wash on it gave us a new blank sheet of paper to write on for a whole year once again. The paper as such was subject to the processes of time. It was bound to get old and worm-eaten. But these walls for fourteen long years furnished a broad sheet that was ever new and ever white to write on Sometime, whale the white-wash was proceeding, our secret would come to light. But such a thing rarely happened. For the writing was carefully rubbed out before the process and the faint lines that survived made any deciphering an Impossibility. Besides, I wrote in Marathi and on abstruse subjects like political economy. This made the task of deciphering a hopeless job altogether. Mr. Barrie could not read the writing much less could he decipher it. He was so learned and wise after all, that he finally opened that it was a wicked attempt to spoil and disfigure government property. My brother was caught in this prison using the thorn of the cordage plant and was punished for it. His offence was to write comments on Vivekananda's lectures on Vedanta in which he had raised some doubts and answered some objections. The book was his own and he had marked certain passages in it and written some marginal notes. These markings and annotations he made in the margin of the book with thorn. And this was his cognisable crime according to the prisons penal code. Mr. Barrie's words were, "This is a jail, this is not a school; if you wanted to learn why did you not learn when at home? Why did you come here? Don't fight, don't read; only work-yes work. I know nothing else here." What avails it to learn? These obstacles to learning were external? but there was one great internal obstacle, and that was that some of the prisoners themselves were averse to learning, Being political prisoners they cared nothing for knowledge. Their motto was action What do we want with pure knowledge?-they would say. Action and sacrifice, that is what we need. I had to make them realise that many of them, when they were released after seven or eight years, shall have to play their part in the Indian world Let them not read anything

then, if they felt that it was no use reading. But here they must add to their knowledge even for the sake of their ideals, rather than rot without knowledge as they were bound to do, if they did not make a special effort to keep their minds active I further brought home to them the fact that if winning freedom was difficult enough, retaining it after it had been won was more difficult stall. And until their minds were trained perfectly, they would never realise this fact of politics and political advancement. In a free nation no constructive work can be undertaken by those who were Ignorant of subjects like history, economics and science of politics and government. I cited to them the instance of Persia. Revolution in Persia set the people free. But because the poetical revolutionaries were ill- equipped in the art of government, in the essentials of good government and of reform and progress, when power came to them they had to depend upon foreign experts in finance and economics, in the knowledge of trade and business- organisation, and to carry on with the help of these experts. It led to chaos and confusion, all over the field, in the economic, Industrial and public life of Persia, it led to maladministration, indiscipline and nepotism in public servants. Want of knowledge was the root of all these evils Mere destructive action, leading to anarchy and the reign of terror, and resulting in dictatorship, benefits no nation On the other hand, it sets back the clock of progress. This has been ever the lesson of history And its best Illustration is the French Revolution of 1789. Blind fury is ever national suicide, and if it is not controlled in time it exposes a country to danger from without as well as to danger within its own domains That is the lesson of that revolution for all time to come. The story of the Chinese Republic from its early beginning down to this day conveys the same lesson. That was because the leaders of the Chinese Revolution were inept in the, art of government And they had to Import administrators from abroad to establish peace, order and good government These were naturally Interested in their own countries and exploited the anarchy in China to serve their own ends; and China remained as backward as it was in the pre-revolutionary era. Hence, no political revolutionary, if he really loved his own country, can afford to be ignorant and to trade on the ignorance of his own countrymen. The more they know the practical art of good government, sound administration, and of the management of their country in every walk of public life, the better it is for them and their country when they came into their own. In this respect, the so-called 'moderates' were better equipped than their friends, the extremists. And political prisoners must learn to follow in their footsteps. The moderates can claim among them economists, administrators, and statesmen of the highest rank like Gokhale, R. C Dutt, Ranade and Sir T. Madavrao. I asked them frankly, "Have you any one to rival them?" Hence to waste their time in idleness in this prison was sheer folly and shortsightedness. It was equally useless to be rotting and despondent. They had better keep their minds well employed and active by study and hard thanking on problems they shall have to tackle hereafter. And the subjects Indispensable for future equipment were Constitutional History, Politics and Economics I said, "Every one who presumes to think of his own country, to dabble in politics, and to aspire to political leadership, must needs possess full and deep knowledge of subjects like politics, economics and constitutional history To be wanting in such

knowledge is to spell yourself inefficient and unfit for responsible self-government, or for high administrative offices in it. As in religion so in politics, action with knowledge is the key to salvation. At present you are working out the nation's destiny by self-immolation and service which are apparent failures. But if this service and self-immolation are to fructify in success and commonweal, then here it is: when you have plenty of time before you, a number of years to be passed inn enforced idleness, you must add knowledge to service and vision to self-sacrifice. Heroism, to do or die, is not enough. It must be illumined by deep learning ripening into wisdom-" I exhorted them finally to cast off gloom and despondency, and apply themselves to knowledge which was their proper work there. End of Chapter XII

CHAPTER XIII Correspondence with India and means of information A prisoner in the Andamans was permitted to write only one letter home during the year. The letter had, perforce, to be as brief as possible. Again, it was to be an open letter, to be censored first by the jailor, next by the Colonial Officer, and to be despatched if approved by them. Every prisoner was warned that the letter shall not be forwarded if it breathed a single word against the jail authorities. Thus only a slip of a letter could be sent by him home once every year. Even this small facility was taken away from him for the year if he was guilty of the slightest offence like talking to a fellow-prisoner, committing nuisance outside the stated hours, not sitting in a line, so on and so forth. One can imagine how difficult it was to be free from any trivial offence of the kind we have mentioned, during the course of three hundred and sixty-five days. It was impossible, therefore, for any prisoner in the Andamans to convey any news about him to the outside world. It need not be said that it was also impossible for the outside world to send any news to him. The prisoner, in these circumstances, could not write even two lines, every year without fail, to inform his people at home that he was alive. The worst kind of gagging Moreover, the letters that were officially sent from here through the Government of India could contain no reference to our ill-treatment and persecution in this jail. Nor was there any scope for publication of such description of jail-life anywhere else. For the Jail Inspection Committee never visited our jail. Occasionally a magistrate condescended to pay a visit to us. But, as a rule, he did not report against Mr. Barrie and his doings here. All petitions to the Indian Government from our side had to pass through the Colonial Officer—the Commissioner—who threw them away or rejected outright the petitions which contained complaints against the administration. Who would then care for us? Not the Jail Committee for there was no fear of its regular visit, nor Mr. Barrie and the Superintendents for they were personally concerned in these matters or the Commissioner who always sided with them. The highest official would step in if only there was such a thing here as riots or an open rebellion. But the local men took very good care that the news should not, at least, officially reach the ears of the highest authority. So the five functionaries of the Silver Jail were the sole masters of the situation and not a word went out from this prison about the real position here. These functionaries disposed of all complaints, petitions and counter-statements without any let or hindrance from the outside world. In case an obvious injustice was found out in that disposal, to make it reach the higher authorities or to ventilate it publicly had become a process more difficult here than in the prisons of India. And the ready means, available to prisoners in India to send news with their brethren on going home after their release, was denied altogether to the outgoing and the in-coming prisoners of this jail. For whoever came here