द इण्डियन स्ट्रगल / भारतीय स्वाधीनता संग्राम (नेताजी सुभाष चन्द्र बोस - ऐतिहासिक विश्लेषण)

CHAPTER VII IN BURMESE PRISONS¹ (1925-27) IN the early hours of the morning of October 25th, 1924, I was roused from my sleep as I was wanted by some police- officers. The Deputy-Commissioner of Police, Calcutta, on meeting me, said: 'Mr. Bose, I have a very unpleasant duty to perform. I have a warrant for your arrest under Regulation III of 1818." He then produced another warrant authorising him to search my house for arms, explosives, ammunition, etc. Since no arms, etc., were forthcoming, he had to content himself with taking a pile of papers and correspondence. To avoid public attention, he drove me to prison in his own car -but so utterly unexpected was my arrest that known faces, whom I met on my way, never thought that my destination was His Majesty's Prison at Alipore. At the Alipore New Central Jail I was surprised to find that there were others in the same boat with me. The prison authorities did not seem to be happy to receive us. Special arrangements had to be made for segregating us from the rest of the prison population and they had hardly any surplus accommodation. As the day advanced, our numbers began to swell and to our great delight (there is nothing so welcome in prison as companion- ship) when the time for evening lock-up came, we found that we were eighteen in number. As I was the Chief Executive Officer of the Calcutta Municipal Corporation at the time, my sudden arrest dis- located the work of the Municipality. The Government therefore gave special orders that till the beginning of Decem- ber I could attend to my office work in prison and that my Secretary could see me from time to time with office files and documents. In all these interviews a police-officer would ¹ The writer has been in custody eight times but he has tried to chronicle the events of only one such experience, since it is more interesting than the others. 149

150 THE INDIAN STRUGGLE be present besides a jail-officer and usually some of the worst police-officers would be detailed to conduct these interviews. I had frequent trouble with them and had to put up with a great deal of unpleasantness and on some occasions I had to rebuke some of them for their impertinence. As a punish- ment I was given orders of transfer to another prison (Ber- hampore Jail) in the interior of the province where it would be difficult for people to interview me. Neither at Alipore nor at Berhampore did I have much trouble with the prison- staff. Some of the Government orders were of course humiliating, but for that we did not blame the prison-staff. My trouble with the police-officers, however, continued at Berhampore. Most of my time was spent in study and many were the plans we discussed about the work that we would do when we left prison once again. As the arrests continued from day to day, the prison population began to increase to our great delight. My stay at Berhampore did not last more than two months. On January 25th, 1925, I suddenly received orders of transfer to Calcutta. On my way I learnt to my great surprise that my real destination was Mandalay Prison in Upper Burma. At midnight I reached Calcutta and was taken to the Lalbazar Police-Station to spend the night there. The room in the police-station was a dirty hole and thanks to mosquitoes and bugs, it was impossible to have a wink of sleep. The sanitary arrangements were horribly bad and there was no privacy at all. I then realised the truth of what others had said before, namely, that if there is a hell on earth, it is the Lalbazar Police-Station. As I lay down, counting the number of beams in the ceiling to while away the time, I heard familiar voices in an adjoining room. So the good Government had sent me companions even there! In the early hours of the morning when it was still dark, a police-officer appeared on the scene. This was Mr. Lowman, Assistant-Inspector General of Police, who, we learned later, was to escort us to Mandalay. The doors of the cells were opened and out came seven familiar faces, all bound for the same destination. A surprise indeed! Under cover of darkness, surrounded by armed guards, we came out of the police-station. Two prison vans were standing

IN BURMESE PRISONS 151 in front with their doors invitingly open. In one, our worldly belongings were placed; in the other the living luggage was deposited. With terrific speed, the prison vans moved out of the yard and merged in the darkness that still hung over the landscape. After a while both the vans drew up and as we alighted, we realised that we were on the river bank. There was a ship standing near the bank, but we were all put into a small motor-boat. For three hours we cruised about on the river and when it was time for the ship to sail, we were quietly taken up into the ship from the farther side. By nine o'clock in the morning, we were sailing down the river towards the sea. In front of our cabins, heavily-armed guards were stationed and great was the curiosity of the other passengers to know who we were and why these elaborate arrangements had been made. When we reached the high seas, the armed guards in front of our cabins were withdrawn and only plain-clothes officers were left to look after us. Our four days' voyage was rather interesting. Mr. Lowman was jovial and communicative and we discussed all possible subjects, including our estimate of Governors, Executive Councillors, public leaders, etc. I even raised the question of the torture of political prisoners by the police. Mr. Low- man at first denied the charge, but at the end he admitted that on some occasions such misdeeds had been committed. On the whole, though I began with a strong prejudice against him, I came to hold a favourable opinion of him and this opinion was confirmed as a result of my subsequent meetings and talks with him. The night before we reached Rangoon, Mr. Lowman had almost a nightmare. He complained in the morning that he could not sleep well as he dreamt that some of the state prisoners had escaped through the port-hole in the evening. From Rangoon to Mandalay it was a long journey of twenty hours. We had a very large police escort and at every stop on our way, they would line up on both sides of the train. From the fuss they made, one would think that we were either high state-officials or wild animals. Till then Mandalay was but a name to us. I had a hazy idea that it was the capital of the last independent kingdom of Burma and the scene of the second Burmese war. But I

152 THE INDIAN STRUGGLE remembered distinctly that it was the place where Lokamanya Tilak had been imprisoned for nearly six years and later on Lala Lajpat Rai for about a year. It gave us therefore some consolation and pride to feel that we were following in their footsteps. From the station we drove inside the fort to the prison and we passed on our way the houses in which Lalaji and Sardar Ajit Singh had lived during their internment. Outlined against the morning sky we saw beautiful structures which, we were told, were the palace and state-buildings of the old kingdom. The memory of the good old days that were no more, produced a pang in our hearts and we began to wonder when Burma would once more be able to fly her flag of independence. As our carriages drew up in front of the grey walls of Mandalay Prison, our day-dreaming came to an end. The massive gates of the prison-house yawned and we were soon swallowed up. The interior of a Burmese prison is somewhat different from that of an Indian prison and the first few minutes were spent in examining our new surroundings. The first thing we realised was that the jail-buildings were built not of stone nor of brick, but of wooden palisading. The buildings looked exactly like cages in a zoo or in a circus. From the outside and especially at night, the inmates of these buildings appeared almost like animals prowling about behind the bars. Within these structures we were at the mercy of the elements. There was nothing to protect us from the biting cold of winter or the intense heat of summer or the tropical rains in Mandalay. We all began to wonder how we were going to live our life there. But there was no help and we had to make the best of a bad situation. In the yard adjoining ours, so we were told, Lokamanya Tilak had spent about six years of his life. Among the prison-staff we found many men who had been there when Lokamanya Tilak was a prisoner. From them and later on from the Inspector-General of Prisons himself, we heard interesting anecdotes of him and how he spent his days in prison. Not less interesting for us than the anecdotes were the lemon-trees which he had planted with his own hands. From one of the state prisoners, Mr. Jibon Lal Chatterji, who had preceded us, we took our first lessons in

IN BURMESE PRISONS 153 the Burmese language. I was not there long before I devel- oped a strong liking for the Burmese people. There is some- thing in them which one cannot help liking. They are exceedingly warm-hearted, frank and jovial in their tem- perament. They are of course quick-tempered and are sometimes liable to lose their self-control when under the influence of temper. But that did not appear to me as a very serious shortcoming. What struck me greatly was the innate artistic sense which every Burman has. If they have any faults, it is their extreme naïveté and absence of all feeling against foreigners. In fact I was told later that for a Burmese woman, a foreigner has greater attraction than a member of her own community. Our Superintendent, Captain (later on, Major) Smith, was exceedingly nice in his dealings with us and there was never any misunderstanding between us. Even when we had to fight the Government or go on hunger-strike, our friendly relations were not disturbed. With the Chief Jailor we had frequent trouble and we would receive constant pin-pricks from him. He would justify himself by saying that he had to act under orders, but till the end I was not able to find out who was really responsible for these pin-pricks. However, after some time, when the subordinate staff realised that if we were given trouble we could also make trouble, they settled down to a friendly alliance with us. The head of the Prison Department was Lieut.-Col. Tarapore, a Parsi gentleman, a very tactful, intelligent and well-meaning official. Though state-prisoners in Mandalay or in other prisons of Burma had occasional misunderstandings with him, I must admit and that with great pleasure, that on the whole he endeavoured to treat us well. His difficulty was that in the first place, the Bengal Government who were ultimately responsible for us, were exceedingly vindictive. Secondly, the Government of India, the highest authority in the land, were too far away and too indifferent. Thirdly, the Burma Government, though not vindictive towards us, did not want to do any- thing on their own responsibility. Lieut.-Col. Tarapore was a great enthusiast of prison-reform and at his instance the Burma Government invited Mr. Patterson, one of His

154 THE INDIAN STRUGGLE Majesty's Prison Commissioners in England, to visit Burma and advise them on prison-reform there. But with all his enthusiasm Lieut.-Col. Tarapore could not achieve much because of his reactionary environment. I remember that a very important piece of reform which he had once attempted had to be given up because of opposition in other quarters. To the ordinary Burman, accustomed to smoking tobacco from a very early age, tobacco is more important than food. As tobacco was banned in Burmese prisons, the prisoners 'would commit innumerable jail-offences in trying to smuggle it from outside. The Inspector-General of Prisons rightly thought that if tobacco were given to the prisoners in a legal way, there would be a drop in the number of prison-offences and the illegal traffic would also be stopped to a large extent. He, therefore, introduced a rule that as a reward for good behaviour prisoners would be given a certain quantity of tobacco every day. Though 'the reform was not sufficiently far-reaching, it was an improvement on the existing state of things. The experiment was tried for a year but at the end of that period, most of the Prison Superintendents reported against the experiment and the Finance Department also raised difficulty about funds. The reform had consequently to be dropped. Towards the end of our stay in Burma, another important reform was attempted by him. Prisoners were taken out of prison and employed for road-making. They were accommodated in camps, were allowed more freedom than in prison and were also given a certain allowance in addition to their food. I do not know what the ultimate result of the experiment was, but about the time that I left Burma, difficulty was being experienced in finding suitable officers for running these camps. In our talks with him, the Inspector-General used to complain that he did not have officials possessing the necessary education and character who could forget their prison-environment and treat the prisoners as human beings. During my stay in Burma I was able to make a study of criminal psychology and of the problems of prison-reform. In supplying us with necessary literature, the Inspector- General was of great assistance. The prison population in the

IN BURMESE PRISONS 155 different jails in Burma also afforded a valuable subject- matter for study. It is neither possible nor necessary to give here some of the results of my study and observation, but I shall content myself with making one observation. It is generally thought that those who are convicted for murder, are the worst specimens of humanity and are past redemption. On the contrary, my experience is that among the prisoners, murderers are generally a better type. This is so at least in those cases in which murder has been committed in a fit of temper or temporary insanity. Professional thieves and pick- pockets, on the other hand, represent the worst type. In the condemned cells (where prisoners are locked before they are hanged) I would see from time to time fine specimens of humanity, sometimes boys in their 'teens, who were going to be hanged simply because they had lost their self-control for a moment and killed someone in a fit of temper. The ease with which the High Court in Burma would confirm death sentences appeared amazing to me. The conduct of the High Court was all the more monstrous in view of the fact that in Burma people had for centuries been accustomed to take the law into their own hands and Upper Burma and Mandalay had come under British rule as late as 1885. From time to time we would receive visits from many interesting people including officials. From the Home Member down to the petty magistrate no one would ignore us, since Indian state prisoners were to them interesting specimens of humanity. Among the visitors was Mr. Patter- son, a Prison Commissioner from England, who greeted us as 'eight of the most dangerous men in India.' A regular visitor was Mr. Brown, the Deputy-Commissioner (i.e., 'District Officer) of Mandalay. Whatever may have been his attitude towards the people of Mandalay, with the state prisoners his dealings were those of a straightforward gentleman. He was a cultured man and we enjoyed our discussions with him. He was, moreover, helpful to us in supplying literature and in mediating, whenever we fell out with the prison officials. Our relations with the prison officials suddenly became strained, when Captain Smith went on leave. He was succeeded by Major Findlay. While

156 THE INDIAN STRUGGLE Captain Smith had a genial temperament, Major Findlay had a rough exterior and a rather saturnine temperament. We soon fell out with Major Findlay over trifling matters and this led to hunger-strike. Through Mr. Brown's med- iation, the misunderstanding was however cleared up. There- after, when we came to know one another more intimately, I discovered that he was an exceedingly nice and straight- forward man. Another official who acted as Superintendent for a time, was Major Sheppard, with whom there was constant friction, but since he did not stay long, matters did not reach a crisis. Ours was not the first batch of state prisoners to be deported to Burma. About a year before we arrived, another batch had been sent across there. When the first batch came they were not confined in the same prison, but were transferred in twos to different prisons in Burma. They had a very hard time and as they were separated, they could not put up a joint fight for improving their conditions. During this period two of the state prisoners, Mr. Jibon Lal Chatterji and Mr. Bhupendra Kumar Dutt, sent a representation to the then Secretary of State for India, Lord Olivier, severely criticising the conduct of the Political Branch of the Bengal Police, called in India, the Intelligence Branch. The main thesis was that agent-provocateurs were employed by the police for entrap- ping innocent but over-enthusiastic young men and that the bogey of a revolutionary conspiracy was deliberately raised by the Intelligence Branch because they could thereby draw extra allowances, like 'danger allowance,' and could also have at their disposal, large sums of money for employing informers. Certain facts and figures were given by way of substantiating this charge. This letter somehow found its way to the Indian Press and after its publication, it was quoted by the Swarajist leader, Pandit Motilal Nehru, in a speech in the Assembly, attacking the policy of imprisoning people without trial. The publication of the letter so annoyed the Government that severe restrictions were imposed on the state prisoners in Burma. After some time the temper of the Government cooled down and the state prisoners were allowed then to come together in one prison. An exception was however

IN BURMESE PRISONS 157 made in the case of Mr. Bhupendra Kumar Dutt, whom the Government wanted to punish for the publication of the letter. In prison we were able to meet from time to time Burman political prisoners from whom we learned a lot about the intricacies of Burma politics. Among those whom we met there were some priests (called in Burma 'hpongyis'). These priests, or hpongyis, whom I met in the prisons of Burma, are some of the finest specimens of humanity I have ever met. Burma is a land where there is no caste and no class. It is probably the most classless country outside Russia. Buddhism there is a living religion and the priests who live that religion are held in high esteem. For centuries, they have been imparting free elementary education to men and women, with the result that in the matter of literacy, Burma to-day is far ahead of India. Since the British annexation, the hpongyis alone have kept up the flame of dying nationalism, since they were never reconciled to British domination or to British culture. Under their leadership for many a year, guerilla warfare was carried on. Owing to their consistent opposition to the foreign Government, they are intensely hated by all Britishers, official and non-official. Strangely enough, though they are anti-British, they are nevertheless pro-Indian and they are strongly opposed to separation from India. Apart from the cultural affinity they have with India, they feel that when they are separated from India, it will be more difficult for them to fight Great Britain for their political freedom. Among the mass of the Burmese people the influence of the priests is very strong. The English-educated Burmans are politically a divided community. The majority are politically opposed to the priests and are anti-Indian and pro-British.¹ A minority among them is however allied politically with the priests. The English-educated Burmans generally think that separation from India will improve their lot, though the fact remains that it is the Britishers who have the best of every- thing in the country and not the Indians. The 'anglicised' ¹ The New Constitution, outlined by the Joint Parliamentary Committee on the basis of separation from India, is likely to prove disappointing to English-educated Burmans and may bring about a change in their general attitude.

158 THE INDIAN STRUGGLE Burmans generally have no idea or intention of fighting for their freedom and they think that once the Indians are eliminated from Burma, everything will be all right for them. The hpongyis or priests on the contrary, are politically- minded and they follow the policy and tactics of the Indian National Congress. When I was in Burma, the uncrowned king of the Burmans was Rev. U. Ottama, a priest.¹ The impression that I had during my stay there was that the priests had the largest following in the country. They had boycotted the Burma Legislature since 1920 and they did not have their representatives there. That led the Govern- ment to think that the Burmans really wanted separation from India, as the English-educated Burmans generally were saying. The recent elections have shown, however, that the people are against separation. The significance of the last elections will be understood better when it is remembered that they were fought on the basis of the old electoral roll and that the request of the anti-separationist party for a revision of the electoral roll prior to the elections, was turned down. Among the separationists (the English-educated Burmans) as also among the anti-separationists, it is very difficult to have a united party, because personal considerations play an important rôle in Burma. The priests who are anti-separa- tionists are on the whole a compact party. Among the English-educated Burmans, when I was in Burma, there were several parties, the most important of them being the Twenty-One Party²—so called because twenty-one persons joined together and formed the party. The Nationalist Party in Burma is called the G.C.B.A.—that is, the General Council ¹ Rev. U. Ottama is now an exile living in Calcutta and is not allowed to return to Burma. His health is completely shattered as a result of repeated incarceration. When I was in Burma an interesting incident took place. Rev. U. Ottama was in prison and a rumour got afloat that he had been secretly transported to a prison in India. In the Burma Legislative Council, questions were put on this point. The Home Member, himself a Burman, felt annoyed at the questions and replied that U. Ottama was one of the ten thousand criminals in his jails and he could not be expected to know where he was confined at the time. At this in- sulting reference to U. Ottama, all the non-official members of the Legis- lative Council walked out as a protest. They resolved to dissolve their separate parties and start a united party—called the People's Party. ² The policy of the Twenty-One Party was to work the Constitution, while that of the G.C.B.A. was to boycott it.

IN BURMESE PRISONS 159 of Burmese Association and there are as many G.C.B.A.'s as there are parties. Many people wonder to-day, why Britain is so keen on separating Burma from India—but if one knew Burma, there would be no reason to wonder. Many Britishers think that even if India be a lost Dominion, it is still desirable to try and keep Burma. Burma is so thinly populated, is so rich in minerals and in certain parts has such a pleasing climate that it would be fit for colonisation by Britishers. Besides, Burma is the gateway of the Far East and has an important strategic position. Interesting as Burmese politics was to me, the country and the people were even more so. I spent a great deal of my time in studying the ancient history of Burma and in discovering the old cultural contacts between the two coun- tries. There is no doubt that many Kshatriya tribes migrated to Burma from India. They, as well as the people from Ceylon and South India, brought to Burma, Buddhism and the Pali Literature. The culture and philosophy of Burma have been largely influenced by India. The alphabets have been taken from Sanskrit and even the script is much like some of the Indian scripts. The pagodas (temples) of Burma which have a unique charm of their own, are not devoid of Indian influence. In Pagan and in other old centres of Burmese culture, one can still see structures which form the transition between the typical Hindu temple and the typical Burmese pagoda. I have already said that the artistic sense of the ordinary Burman is of a very high order. One had only to see the exquisite handiwork of the prisoners in Mandalay and other prisons to believe this. In Mandalay, on two or three jail holidays in the year, the Superintendent would give the prisoners permission to sing and dance. On these days they would organise a variety performance. They would play dramas and sing songs specially composed for the occasion, would dance their exquisite national dance and would even improvise a jail orchestra to supply the necessary music. All this was possible only among a people with a highly-developed artistic sense. In October 1925, our national religious festival—the Durga Pujah—falling due, we applied to the Superintendent for

160 THE INDIAN STRUGGLE permission and for funds to perform the ceremony. Since similar facilities were given to Christian prisoners in Indian prisons, the Superintendent gave us the necessary facilities, in anticipation of Government sanction. The Government, however, not only refrained from giving sanction but censured the Superintendent, Major Findlay, for acting on his own responsibility. Thereupon we informed the Government that they should reconsider their decision, otherwise we would be forced to go on hunger-strike. The reply being in the negative, we commenced hunger-strike in February 1926. All our correspondence with the outside world was at once stopped. Nevertheless, three days after the hunger-strike began, the Calcutta paper, Forward, published the news of our hunger-strike and also the ultimatum we had sent to Govern- ment. About the same time Forward published extracts from the report of the Indian Jail Committee of 1919-21. Before this Committee a high official of the Prison Depart- ment, Lieut-Col. Mulvany, had given evidence to say that he had been forced by his superior officer, the Inspector- General of Prisons of Bengal, to withdraw the health reports he had sent of some state-prisoners in his jail and to send in false reports instead. These disclosures raised a storm of indignation among the public. In the Indian Legislative Assembly which was then sitting in Delhi, Mr. T. C. Goswami a Swarajist member, moved the adjournment of the House over the hunger-strike in Mandalay Jail and referred to the evidence of Lieut.-Col. Mulvany to the effect that false reports about the state prisoners are manufactured by the Prison Department. The Home Member found himself in an uncomfortable position and promised to redress the grievances of the state prisoners on hunger-strike. No sooner was the debate over than a searching inquiry was instituted with a view to finding out how Forward got the necessary material for publication. However, the Government issued orders without delay that they would sanction the money that had been spent by us and that in future they would provide facilities and funds for our religious requirements. So after fifteen days' starvation, having won our point, we ended the strike.

IN BURMESE PRISONS 161 In the latter half of 1926 an interesting development took place. The Legislatures were dissolved and fresh elections were due in November. My fellow-prisoner, Mr. S. C. Mitra, was offered a constituency for the Indian Legislative Assembly by the Bengal Congress Party, and I was offered a Calcutta constituency for the Bengal Legislative Council. Both of us accepted the offer and decided to stand. While Mr. Mitra was returned unopposed, I had a formidable opponent in Mr. J. N. Basu, the leader of the Liberal Party in Bengal. At the last election Mr. Basu had retained his seat by defeating the Swarajist candidate and the Congress Party thought that it was necessary to put me up against him in order to dislodge him. He was exceedingly popular in his constituency and was a fine type of gentleman and he had nothing against him except his Liberal Politics. This was the key-election of the year in Bengal and so the Party had to put forward its best efforts in order to win. The election was reminiscent of the early Sinn Fein elections in which political prisoners were candidates and the slogan was —'Put him in to get him out.' Modern electioneering methods were used by the Party, including the use of rockets for distributing leaflets and posters showing the candidate behind prison bars. The voters felt that my success would be a public vote of confidence in me and force the Government either to release me or send me up for trial. So I got a thumping majority. But the Government of India was less responsive to public opinion than the Government in Ireland and my incarceration continued. Meanwhile, as a result of the unfavourable climatic con- ditions and of the hunger-strike earlier in the year, my health had begun to give way. Matters grew serious when during the winter of 1926 I had an attack of broncho-pneumonia. After the attack, I could not shake off the temperature and simultaneously I began to lose weight. I was therefore transferred to Rangoon for examination by a medical board. The medical board composed of Lieut.-Col. Kelsall and my brother, Dr. Sunil C. Bose, made a recommendation to the effect that I should not be detained in prison. While I was awaiting the orders of Government in Rangoon Jail, I had L

162 THE INDIAN STRUGGLE a quarrel with the Superintendent, Major Flowerdew (now the Inspector-General of Prisons, Bengal), whereupon I was transferred to Insein Jail. My transfer to Insein proved to be a godsend. On arrival I found as Superintendent, Major Findlay, who had been the Superintendent of Mandalay Jail for some time. He was painfully surprised to see the condition of my health. After keeping me under observation for three weeks, he wrote a very strong note to Government about my health. On receiving this note the Government were forced to act. But they were still opposed to the idea of releasing me. In the meantime they had made an offer in the Bengal Legislative Council saying that if I wanted to go to Switzer- land at my own expense, they would release me and put me on board a ship at Rangoon sailing for Europe. This offer I had rejected, partly because I could not accept the conditions attached to the offer and partly because I did not like the idea of going to Europe direct from Burma for an indefinite period. After the rejection of this offer, the next order that I received from Government, was for my transfer to Almora Jail in the United Provinces. Once again arrangements for my transfer were made with the utmost secrecy and early one morning in May 1927, I was removed from Insein Jail to a boat sailing from Rangoon. On the fourth day I reached Diamond Harbour at the mouth of the river Hooghly. Before our boat reached Calcutta, she was stopped and I was met by Mr. Lowman (who was then the head of the Intelligence Branch of the Police) who wanted me to alight. Thinking that he wanted to smuggle me out of Calcutta, I refused. But I was assured that His Excellency the Governor had placed his launch at our disposal and that I had to appear before a Medical Board who were waiting for me there and I then agreed. The board composed of Sir Nilratan Sirkar, Dr. B. C. Roy, Lieut.-Col. Sands and Major Hingston, the Governor's physician, examined me and sent their report by wire to the Governor at Darjeeling. I spent the day in the Governor's launch and next morning Mr. Lowman, with a telegram in his hand, came to inform me that the Governor had ordered my release. Saying this, he handed over the official order of release. It was May 16th, 1927, but the

IN BURMESE PRISONS 163 order was signed on May 11th. It looked like intriguing. I asked Mr. Lowman why they had made a show of a medical examination on May 15th, when the release order had actually been signed on the 11th. He would not reply at first, but on being pressed he said that on May 11th, other orders had also been signed and kept in readiness, including my transfer to Almora and it had been decided that the final decision would come from Darjeeling after the Governor received the report of the Medical Board. Later on, I was to discover that when the Medical Board were considering what report they would make, the police-officers tried their best to make them submit a report in favour of my transfer to Almora, or of my departure to Switzerland, with a view to preventing my release, but fortunately for me, the board refused to do so. Thus, it was clear that till the last moment the Police Department tried to prevent my release. They would undoubtedly have succeeded, if anyone else had been the Governor. Fortunately for me, the new Governor, Sir Stanley Jackson, had come with an open mind and he was a strong man. With the unerring instinct of a trained politician he had sensed the grievance of the people. He had realised within a few days of his arrival that what the people demanded was some protection from the tyrannical Police Department. Under Lord Lytton's regime, the Police Department had ruled and the Commissioner of Police of Calcutta had been the virtual Governor of Bengal. All that was now changed. Within a few weeks of his taking over the reins of office, Sir Stanley Jackson gave everyone to understand that henceforth he was to rule Bengal and not the Commissioner of Police. When any conflict arose between the public and the police he endeavoured to do justice even at the risk of offending the latter. For nearly four years he was able to avoid trouble through his firmness and tact. Only when the whole of India was plunged again into the throes of another gigantic upheaval, did Bengal become once again the political storm- centre of India.

CHAPTER VIII THE BAROMETER RISES (1927-28) By the middle of 1927 the darkest hour had ended and the horizon began to light up. Disgusted with the narrow sectarianism, selfishness and fanaticism, which had seized the country after the death of the Deshbandhu, the soul of the people began to stir itself again. In the new awakening the contribution of the youth was the largest. The leadership of the Congress was, on the whole, found wanting. Mahatma Gandhi was suffering from an acute mental depression and was living in retirement from active politics. Pandit Motilal Nehru had left for Europe, partly owing to professional reasons and partly because of the serious illness of his daughter- in-law. In the circumstances, the responsibility of leadership was vested in Mr. Srinivasa Iyengar and he endeavoured to rise to the occasion. He spent much of his time in 1927 in touring the country for restoring inter-communal amity and friendship. His crowning achievement during the year was a successful session of the Unity Conference in Calcutta in November, convened and presided over by him, which was to pave the way for the coming upheaval in which all com- munities and parties were to join once again. In Bengal, where the worst demonstration of communal passion had taken place during 1926, there were signs of the dawn of a new era. In August, as a result of a vote of no confidence in the Bengal Legislative Council, the Ministers were once again thrown out. About this time a strike broke out in the biggest railway workshop of the Bengal Nagpur Railway at Kharagpur, seventy miles from Calcutta. The workers' organisation was so strong that the Company had to climb down and meet the demand of the workers. In November, the Unity Conference in Calcutta helped to clear the atmosphere and restore the friendly feelings hitherto existing between the Hindu and Moslem communities. Later in the month, when the annual 164

THE BAROMETER RISES 165 meeting of the Bengal Congress Committee¹ was held, there were signs of enthusiasm among the Congress workers of Bengal. The most potent impetus to the new awakening came, however, from the side of the Government. It was an auspicious moment for the Indian Nationalists when in November 1927 the Viceroy, Lord Irwin, made an announcement, regarding the appointment of the Indian Statutory Commission. The appointment was made under Section 84a of the Government of India Act, 1919, which provided for decennial reviews of the political situation in India, somewhat reminiscent of the periodical surveys made by the British Parliament into the affairs of the East India Company at the time of the renewal of the Company's` Charter. Since the Statutory Commission was due in 1929, it was rather surprising to find a Tory Government accelerat- ing the date of the Commission. The Indian National Congress had been pressing since 1920 for a Round Table Conference for revising the Constitution, with a view to the early introduction of Dominion Home Rule, but this demand had been consistently turned down by the British Govern- ment. The Conservative Party had never taken kindly to the Reforms of 1919, for which the Liberal, Mr. Montagu, had been largely responsible, though Indian opinion con- sidered them inadequate and unsatisfactory. They, therefore, wanted to dispose of the Indian question themselves while they were in power, so that the Labour Party, if they hap- pened to succeed them, would not be able to make any further concession to the Indian demand for Home Rule. Since the next General Election in England was due in 1929, the Conservative Cabinet found it necessary to appoint the Statutory Commission in 1927. The Commission was composed of Sir John Simon (Chair- man), Viscount Burnham, Lord Strathcona, Hon. Edward Cadogan, Mr. Stephen Walsh, Major Attlee and Col. Lane Fox. (Mr. Walsh resigned and was succeeded by Mr. Vernon Hartshorn.) There were seven members, of whom two were Labourites, one (viz., the Chairman) was a Liberal, and the ¹ At this meeting of the Bengal Congress Committee the writer was elected President and Mr. Kiron Sankar Roy, Secretary.

166 THE INDIAN STRUGGLE rest were Conservatives. Thus the co-operation of all the political parties in Britain was secured for the work of the Commission. The Commission was charged with inquiring into 'the working of the system of government, the growth of education and the development of representative institutions in British India and matters connected therewith and to what extent it is desirable to establish the principle of responsible government or to extend, modify or restrict the degree of responsible government then existing therein, including the question whether the establishment of second chambers of the local legislatures is or is not desirable.' It was stated on behalf of the Government that Indians had perforce to be excluded from the Commission because it was an ex- clusively Parliamentary Commission and the necessity of having a Parliamentary Commission was explained by the Viceroy in the following words: 'It would be generally agreed that what is required is a Commission which would be unbiased and competent to present an accurate picture of facts to Parliament; but it must also be a body on whose recommendations Parliament should be found willing to take whatever action a study of these facts may indicate to be appropriate.' Simultaneously with the announcement of the Commission, the Viceroy and the Governor of Provinces invited a number of public men in order to explain to them the motive and intention of the Government. The Com- mission was appointed by Royal Warrant of November 26th, 1927, and Lord Birkenhead, the Secretary of State for India, while speaking in the House of Lords the same month on the appointment of the Commission, challenged Indian politicians to produce an agreed constitution for India. The announcement regarding the Statutory Commission evoked a chorus of condemnation from Congress leaders of all parts of India as also from the public at large. The public had become so much accustomed to the idea of self-deter- mination for India, that they no longer regarded the British Parliament as the arbiter of India's destiny. It was therefore but natural that the Congress should, without hesitation or delay, decide to boycott the Commission (popularly known as Simon Commission). That was, of course, no surprise for

THE BAROMETER RISES 167 the Government. But what did surprise them was the decision of the Indian Liberals to boycott the Commission. It was not the violation of the principle of self-determination which offended them but the exclusion of Indians from the All-White Commission. In the face of this non-co-operation on the part of the British Government, how could the Liberals maintain their pet theory of Indo-British collaboration? The attitude of the Liberals was explained by a resolution passed at a public meeting held at Allahabad in December, which was presided over by Sir Tej Bahadur Sapru and which considered 'the exclusion of Indians a deliberate insult to the people of India, as not only does it definitely assign to them a position of inferiority, but what is worse, it denies them the right to participate in the determination of the Constitution of their own country.' The tenth session of the Liberal Federation held at Bombay the same year and presided over by the same gentleman, decided to reject the Simon' Com- mission. Following the Unity Conference in November, the All-India Moslem League met in Calcutta in December. The League passed a resolution recommending Hindu-Moslem unity on the lines laid down by the Unity Conference. It also urged the boycott of the Simon Commission and accepted the principle of joint electorates with reservation of seats for Moslems. This decision was a triumph for the Nationalist Moslems and it was possible only because such prominent Moslems as Mr. M. A. Jinnah and the Ali brothers partici- pated in the conference and advocated the Nationalist point of view. The same month the All-India Trade Union Congress met at Cawnpore and it witnessed for the first time a compact body of Communists who stood for an independent Socialist Republic and for a definite break with the British Trades Union Congress and the International Federation of Trade Unions in Amsterdam. Towards the end of December, the annual session of the Indian National Congress was held at Madras and was presided over by Dr. M. A. Ansari, the Nationalist Moslem leader of Delhi. The Madras Congress is memorable for two reasons. A resolution was of course passed boycotting the Simon Commission 'at every stage

168 THE INDIAN STRUGGLE and every form.' But along with that another resolution was passed directing the Executive to convene an All-India All Parties Conference with a view to drawing up a constitution for India acceptable to all parties. A somewhat contradictory resolution was also passed declaring the goal of the Indian people to be 'complete independence.' The proceedings of the Madras Congress clearly indicated that the appointment of the Simon Commission had been made at an auspicious moment and it had a wonderful effect in whipping up the enthusiasm of the people. From one end to the other, the country exhibited a solidarity which it had seldom shown before in recent times. It was this feeling of solidarity, as also the resolve to give an effective reply to Lord Birkenhead's challenge in the House of Lords, which was responsible for the decision to convene an All-Parties Conference. Apart from the effect produced by the appoint- ment of an All-White Commission, there was another factor which at this time put an indelible stamp on the Congress. That was the awakening among the youths. The youthful element in the Congress had been demanding a more extremist ideology for some time past and under their influence, resolutions had been passed from time to time by Provincial Conferences recommending to the Indian National Congress that the goal of the Indian people should be defined as complete national independence. The resolution of the Madras Congress regarding independence¹ was therefore but the logical fulfilment of a process going on within the Congress for a long time. Along with this resolution the Madras Congress took a significant step in appointing to the Working Committee, representatives of the Left Wing. And as General Secretaries for the coming year were appointed Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru (i.e., Nehru Junior), Mr. Shuaib Qureshi and the writer. Thus the Madras Congress may be regarded as standing for a definite orientation towards the Left. ¹ This resolution was passed unanimously at the Madras Congress but after the Congress was over, Mahatma Gandhi declared that it had been 'hastily conceived and thoughtlessly passed.' Lala Lajpat Rai declared that it was passed because 'many people believed that Dominion Status, also meant complete national independence.' At the Lahore Congress in December, 1929, a similar resolution was moved by the Mahatma and unanimously adopted.