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Memoirs
The day Mohandas could not
Talk
by
C.R. Gopalakrishna
 It
was one of those times in summer, in early 1961. I was returning back to
Waltair from Madras, after handing over his passport to my father who
was on his way to Paris for a meeting with UNESCO. Of all days, the
River Krishna decided to get into ‘spate’ and she did it successfully.
So the Madras-Calcutta Mail, which normally goes via Vijayawada, and
reaches Waltair in about 20 hours (in those days) was diverted via
places I hadn’t known existed! Instead of the normal 20 hours, it took
close to 40. Fortunately I had no luggage, except for a jute bag
containing my change of clothes and toothbrush and paste. I was in one
of those unreserved 3rd class compartments, which was packed like a
sardine can, filled with Malayalees. One can imagine the mayhem, with
their non-stop rapid-firing dialogue that filled the compartment!
By the time I
got down at Waltair, I felt I had corns on my rear!
Resigning
myself to the long travel, I took out from my jute bag, Gandhi’s book on
‘My Experiments with Truth’. Next to me was an old gentleman,
whom I didn’t notice at first. He had with him quite a few magazines and
novels, having come fully prepared for the ordeal. After some time, when
he had finished reading one of the Telugu magazines, I made bold to ask
him if I could read it.
Sleeping was
out of question; sitting itself was at a premium. Came dinnertime, and
at the station, I found that there was nothing available as the train
was unscheduled, and they did not anticipate a massive crowd to descend
on them. I resigned myself to starvation till I reached home. Just then,
the gentleman sitting next to me opened a large Tiffin carrier, and
looking at me said, “There is enough and more for the two of us.”
Never did food taste so delicious. To top it, it was a typical
Vijayawada style of cooking, where the chillies were liberally used. As
I was eating I was steaming from my ears! And as we were eating, we
started talking. And I told him what I was doing, and why I had come to
Madras, and then asked about him. He was silent for a few minutes and
then said he had retired in 1947 after serving the British India Police
as a D.I.G. a senior position for an Indian at that time. I asked him
for any memorable or exciting cases that he handled during his service.
He smiled. Then he said, “I have many, but I will narrate to you an
incident that took place when I was an Inspector at Vijayawada. This
concerns the person whose book you are reading. It took place in the
late thirties.”
I was very
curious of what the incident was, and waited for him to tell me.
We managed to
wash our hands and sat relaxed as much as possible, and lit our
cigarettes, and then he began.
“I was
the Inspector at Vijayawada, a rarity in the British Police for an
Indian. I was known to be very tough, but very fair in my dealings.
I had brought in a lot of secure feelings in that city, and was
always on the prowl, looking for mischief-monger, eve teasers and
the like. I would not hesitate to arrest such persons, whoever they
might have been. There used to be pressures brought onto me, but I
would never wilt. Gradually, I won the people’s respect and support,
though I was serving the British masters!
One day I
got a message from Madras, which was then the Presidency
Headquarters that Gandhi was visiting Vijayawada, and that I should
make preparations to ensure that everything should go off
peacefully, but to be alert and if necessary, stern. I was asked to
assess the requirements of the police needed for security purpose,
and if I thought reinforcements were needed, that I should ask for
it.
The local
Congress leaders were friendly with me, and that evening, after
office, I went to meet them in their office as a casual visitor. And
there was total excitement amongst them. “Gandhiji is coming! Bapu
is coming! How do we plan all this?” was all that I could hear.
I probed
a little, and came to know that things would be peaceful. I went
back and sent a message to the S.P., a Scotsman, who was at Madras,
and assured him that I could manage with the present force in my
hands. “Be careful, ole’ chap! Otherwise, your head will be on the
block!” he said. I assured him, I would.
Soon, the
great day dawned. There was a complete festive look in the city. It
was decked up with marigold bowers and arches, a large pandal was
put up with the tri-color draped behind, durries were in place, and
I had arranged for my C.I.D men to mingle with the crown in plain
clothes.
I had
gone to the station in my full uniform, not to receive him, but to
ensure that there was no trouble. But as he alighted from his 3rd
class compartment with that beatific smile and that halo around his
head, something in me made me step forward and salute him! Bapu
raised his head and folded his palms in greeting with his toothless
smile. I felt I was Blessed!
Bapu was
taken in a huge precession by the citizens of the city, which slowly
wended its way through out the streets finally arriving at the huge
maidan where the pandal for the evening had been put up. He was
constantly cheered, “Gandhiji ki Jai! Gandhiji ki Jai”. And
he slowly walked up to the dais, with his staff, and his two
grandnieces. It was a great and emotional scene, that one cannot
forget,
It was Bapu’s prayer time meeting as well. He started with his
Bhajan on ‘Vaishnavo Jan to’, and after that, he started his
talk. He spoke to the people to support the struggle for a Free
India, but while undertaking this struggle, he also cautioned them
that the British should in no way be physically harmed. The fight
was against the establishment and their policies, not on their
people, who were here in the call of duty. And then he appealed for
monetary support for the party activities. His Hindi to Telugu
translator was doing a splendid job by conveying what Gandhiji was
saying. I was standing near him, enthralled. Suddenly from the
crowd, a little girl, could not have been more than 8 or 9 years,
jumped onto the dais, and before the police could catch her, she was
at Bapu’s feet. She was in tatters, but in her poverty, there was
total peace and serenity on her countenance. Bapu bent down and
smiled at her, holding her tender face in his equally tender hands.
“Kya Chahihey, Beti?” (“What do want, Child?”) he asked.
Without a word, the girl removed her silver anklets, a few glass
bangles and her thin gold chain and literally poured it into his
hands. At that Bapu’s eyes were streaming with tears.
Her
mother came forward, and seeing me, begged me not to arrest the
child. “She and I work in houses, cleaning vessels and cleaning the
homes. We make around Rs.20/ a month, and somehow live by. Her
father deserted me a few years ago.” I assured her I wouldn’t arrest
her.
Bapu
called me, and asked me what the mother said. I told him.
He fell
silent, while two large tears dropped from his eyes. “I yet have
hope for India,” was all that he said, even as he had his hand on
the child’s head. Gandhiji did not speak any more that day.”
I fell silent
at the end of his story. I was moved. “You can imagine how I felt! And
how Bapuji felt” was all he said. By then, we were chugging towards
Waltair. I asked him his name. “Subba Rao. I retired as I.G. of Police
in Free India,” he said.
November 5,
2006
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Moustache of Mahatma by J. Ajithkumar
Gandhi, Gandhigiri and Gyan-Doo by Julia
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The Day Mohandas Could Not Talk by CR
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