A Nation in Making/Chapter 14

​14

Two Clouded Years

In 1897, I was invited to give evidence before the Welby Commission appointed to enquire into Indian Expenditure and the adjustment of the financial relations between England and India. Lord Welby was President of the Commission, and among the members were Sir William Wedderburn, Mr. W. S. Caine, and Mr. Dadabhai Naoroji. I was invited as the Indian witness from Bengal, the other witnesses from India being Mr. Gokhale and Sir Dinshaw Wacha from Bombay, and Mr. G. Subramanya Iyer from Madras.^[1]

I made up my mind to accept the invitation and began to prepare myself for my examination; and here I must record my grateful acknowledgments to the Bengal Secretariat and to the memory of the late Sir Herbert Risley, then in charge of the Financial Department, for the help I received. I believe Sir Alexander Mackenzie, the Lieutenant-Governor, was doubtful as to whether I should be able to stand the test of a severe cross-examination in Finance; but I made up my mind to do my best, and I did not, I think, fare badly. I got up the details of provincial finance and the system of provincial contracts after careful study; and the labour I bestowed and the pains that I then took were helpful to me in my work as a member of the Legislative Council.

I arrived in London early in May and found that my friends had already been examined. I had to prepare a memorandum for submission to the Commission upon which I was to be examined by them. The preparation of the memorandum took me about a fortnight; and it was hard and strenuous work. I used to begin work at ten o'clock in the morning after breakfast and stop at about five o'clock, with a short interval for lunch, which I often had in my own room. The memorandum has been printed by the British Committee of the Indian National Congress along with ​those submitted by the other Indian witnesses, in a separate volume, as a Congress blue-book.

It is worthy of notice that Mr. Dadabhai Naoroji, although a member of the Commission, submitted himself for examination.

My examination lasted for a whole day, from eleven o'clock in the morning till about four o'clock in the afternoon, with an interval for lunch. Sir Louis Peile, who was a member of the Commission and of the India Council, severely cross-examined me with regard to that part of my evidence which related to the wider employment of Indians in the higher offices of the Govern- ment. 'Have you read the Public Services Commission Report?' he asked me. 'Very thoroughly' was my reply, and I think I was able to turn the tables against him. I especially protested against the practical exclusion of our countrymen from the higher offices in the Educational Service. Mr. Gokhale, who was present during my evidence in cross-examination, said, 'It was brilliant'.

Immediately after my examination I went to a function where I met Sir Charles Elliott. He warmly shook me by the hand and invited me to dinner. Notwithstanding wide differences of opinion, our relations were friendly and continued to be so till 1909, when he wrote to me during my visit to England as a member of the Imperial Press Conference, asking me to disavow my sympathy with anarchical crimes, and offering me in return the honour of his hospitality. I showed this extraordinary epistle to several of my friends, including Sir Henry Cotton. I declined to take any notice of it, and did not reply to it. But this little cloud, which darkened our relations, had not then appeared, and we were good friends, glad to meet one another.

The Calcutta Municipal Bill was then before the Legislative Council, and I had a talk with him about the matter. Sir Charles Elliott was no friend of Local Self-government, but I found that in the free atmosphere of England and as the result of his contact with the institutions of Local Self-government, a change had taken place in his ideas. He was a member of the London School Board and he said to me, 'Now that I have seen how these things are worked in England, I think more about your Corporation than I ever did before'. He was not in sympathy with the drastic changes that had been introduced in the Calcutta Municipal Bill. He had the inclination, and if he had had the power, he certainly would have helped us.

After my examination as a witness, I had a little time to spare ​before leaving for India, and I utilized it in addressing public meetings upon Indian questions. We had a very successful meeting at Sunderland, Sir Henry Fowler's constituency. Mr. Dadabhai Naoroji was present and spoke.

With Sir Henry Fowler I had a most interesting conversation about Indian affairs. The talk turned upon the employment of our countrymen in the public service. He said, and with perfect candour, as he was then out of office, 'We are opposed to simultaneous examinations for political reasons'. I said, 'I think I can understand your hesitation so far as the Indian Civil Service is concerned, but why do you object to simultaneous examinations for what are called the Minor Civil Services? There are no political reasons here.' He had no answer to give. I promptly followed up my question with the observation, 'Sir Henry, when you are again Secretary of State, you must be prepared to receive a representation from us urging this view'. We then parted, both laughing heartily.

I thought that I had at last got to the bottom of the official mind in its objection to simultaneous examinations. Sir Henry Fowler spoke as an honest, straightforward Englishman, without the reserve of office, and he laid bare his mind. All that talk about the necessity of maintaining the English character of the administration in India by insisting upon an irreducible minimum of Englishmen in the Civil Service (as if Indians could not be thoroughly imbued with Western ideas of government) is 'moonshine' and is a diplomatic mask put on to hide the real motive. It is political and not administrative considerations that have so long operated as a bar to the wider employment of our countrymen in the higher offices of Government.

I returned to Bombay about June 12, and learnt on my arrival that a terrible earthquake had occurred in Bengal, causing serious loss of life and property. The earthquake was specially disastrous in North Bengal; and the Bengal Provincial Conference, which was then being held at Natore, had to be broken up while it was in session. I got down at Serampore, instead of at Howrah, where my friends were waiting to welcome me. Having heard all about the earthquake, I was anxious about my people at home and hurried across the river from Serampore to my Barrackpore residence. It was Moharrum time when the earthquake occurred, and my children had all gone to see the fun. They were in the open, and the carriage and horse reeled under the shock. My wife was left alone in the ​house, and she hurried out to the garden. There were cracks in the house, but no serious damage was done.

On my return home I learnt that I had in my absence been elected a member of the Bengal Legislative Council by the District Boards of the Presidency Division. In those days the elections to the Councils were less exciting, and less open to the influence of personal canvassing. The District Boards and municipalities elected delegates to vote for the candidates at the final elections. The delegates were chosen men, the pick of their class, above corruption and the influence of personal pressure.

The Congress met at Amraoti in December, 1897. Amraoti is the capital of Berar and was the headquarters of my late friend, Mr. Mudholkar, to whom I have already had occasion to refer. A more selfless and less ostentatious friend of the national cause it would have been difficult to find. With great capacity and common sense he combined a geniality and a modesty of character that made him one of the most lovable of men. He invited me to live with him as a guest; but my party included my friends, Upendranath Sen, Kali Prosanna Kabyavisarad and Taraprosanna Mitter (manager of the Bengalee), better known as T. P. Mitter. They were looking after me with the affectionate care of devoted friend- ship, and I could not separate myself from them. I lived with them in the quarters provided for the delegates and was happy in their company.

I was asked to move the Resolution proposing Mr. Sankaran Nair as President of the Congress, a duty that I have often since performed. I said that times were critical, and we needed the guidance and leadership of such a man as he. Mr. Sankaran Nair was then an advocate of the Madras High Court, and he had already attained a distinguished position at the Bar. Subsequently he became a Judge of the High Court and a member of the Viceroy's Executive Council. His presidential speech was a strong and masculine utterance, worthy of the man and suited to the times when the forces of reaction were so strongly in evidence. 'It is impossible to argue a man into slavery in the English language' said he; and his was a vigorous plea for free institutions as the true cure for degradation and misery, and racial and credal conflicts.

I was entrusted with the Resolution regarding the deportation of the Natu brothers of Poona. The Natu brothers were Sirdars of the Deccan, whose ancestors had taken an important part in the ​events which led to the establishment of British power in Western India, and were themselves men of light and leading in the capital of Maharashtra. When I was at Poona as President of the Congress, I was treated by them with courtesy, and along with other delagates was the recipient of their hospitality. The Congress movement was then still under a cloud of official suspicion, but they were not afraid to join it openly.

The Plague, the forced segregations, the compulsory domiciliary visits, had created a feeling of panic and alarm among the population at Poona. Mr. Gokhale, then in England, had received accounts of what had taken place; and his publication of them had brought him into trouble. There is nothing that touches our people so deeply as interference with their household arrangements and invasion into the sanctities of their domestic life. The excitement was intense and it culminated in the unhappy murder of Mr. Rand, President of the Plague Committee, and Lieut. Ayerst. There are always extremists among the organs of public opinion. They called for a gagging act, for deportations and other familiar methods of repression.

The Natu brothers as leading citizens had formally appealed to the Government to interfere. Soon after they were deported under an old, obsolete regulation (Regulation XXV of 1827 of the Bombay Regulations, corresponding to the Bengal Regulation, III of 1818), and their property was taken charge of by the Government. Was it the reward of their efforts for their countrymen, or was it a bureaucratic device to strike terror into the hearts of the people? Whatever it was, it was useless and superfluous - in the language of Edmund Burke, 'a waste of the precious treasure of human suffering'. For the murderers of Mr. Rand and Lieut. Ayerst were soon traced. They were tried, convicted and hanged. The Natu brothers had been five months under detention when the Congress met.

The Congress Resolution on the subject, which I was asked to move, deprecated the exercise of the extraordinary powers vest- ed in the Government by the Regulations at a time of peace and quiet, though the Congress recognized that circumstances might arise in which it might be necessary to put them into force. The Congress recommended that, upon the appearance of such conditions in any province or a specified area, the fact should be notified that the Government intended to take action if necessary under the ​Regulations, and that in no case should the period of detention without trial exceed three months.

The question of the deportations under the Regulations assumed a wider interest when in 1907 and 1908 under Lord Minto's administration the Regulations were vigorously worked. Lala Lajpat Rai and Sirdar Ajit Singh were deported from the Punjab, while in Bengal Babu Krishna Kumar Mittra, Babu Aswini Kumar Dutt, Babu Syam Sunder Chakervarti and several others were similarly dealt with. It is a melancholy chapter in the history of my province to which I shall have to refer later on. A bad law in the hands of rulers owing no responsibility to the people is apt to be worked in a manner that often creates grave public dissatisfaction. In times of excitement, when deeper and more permanent remedial measures are needed, it affords a short cut for meeting the situation, leaving behind bitter memories that take years to efface.

The year 1898 opened with dark clouds rolling over the political horizon, with popular unrest followed by repression. Famine and plague cast their shadows over the land. The popular excitement was aggravated by the plague measures so ruthlessly enforced at Poona. Upon their heels came the murder of two European officers, the deportation of the Natu brothers, and the alleged disclosure of the existence of secret conspiracies in the western presidency.

It was when the atmosphere was so charged with the forces that make for unrest that Lord Curzon assumed the Viceroyalty of India. In India we had known him as a brilliant parliamentarian and as one of the coming leaders of the great political party to which he belonged. We were expectant, but not confident; and we acted as men in that attitude of mind would often do. When we met in Congress in Madras in December, 1898, which was synchronous with his assumption of the Viceroyalty, we gave him credit for qualities which we hoped he would display in the government of India. I was entrusted with the Resolution according him a hearty welcome, and we proceeded to add in the Resolution the hope and trust that the policy of progress and confidence that had characterized the best traditions of British rule would be followed during his Lordship's tenure of office.

In supporting my Resolution I quoted from Lord Curzon's speeches delivered immediately after his appointment as Viceroy of India. In one of them he said: 'I love India, its people, its history, its government, the complexities of its civilization and ​life.' In another speech delivered about the same time he observed that the essential qualifications of a Viceroy of India, were 'courage and sympathy'. Courage he had in abundance, the courage to defy public opinion and to exalt his personal ideals above those of the cominunity he governed; of sympathy he had but little. He loved the people of India after a fashion that they did not appreciate, which excited their resentment, and prepared the way for those difficulties and embarrassments from which the Government long suffered.

The message of the Congress was communicated by the President, and Lord Curzon thanked him and the Congress for the welcome.

In February, 1899, the Indian Association presented him with an address of welcome. As Secretary, I introduced the deputation and read the address. An incident took place which is worth mentioning. We were assembled in the throne room awaiting the arrival of the Viceroy. An aide-de-camp came a few minutes before His Excellency entered the room, apparently with a view to satisfying himself that all the arrangements were in proper order. He noticed that two of the members of the deputation had Indian pump-shoes on. They were asked to take them off and appear without shoes, or retire from the deputation. They chose the latter course. The incident created a painful impression, and one or two other members of the deputation wanted to follow the retiring members; but it was felt that it would be discourteous to the head of the Government, and perhaps in the long run prejudicial to the interests that we represented.

There were only two occasions when I personally came in contact with Lord Curzon in India. I was never bidden to his presence by his command; and his policy and his public measures never inspired me with the desire to solicit an interview with him for conversation on public questions. The deputation was the first opportunity I had of meeting Lord Curzon. I was impressed by the pomp and grandeur of the viceregal surroundings, so different from the days of Lord Ripon, and the stately and sonorous periods of the viceregal reply. We were beginning to feel unhappy; and the order of the Government of India with regard to the Calcutta Municipal Bill caused the gravest disappointment and anxiety about the future.

The second time I met Lord Curzon was at the public meeting held at the Town Hall in honour of Queen Victoria's memory, ​when he presided and I spoke. Bishop Weldon on that occasion sat next to me, and, after my speech was over, shook me by the hand and said, 'Well done'. Sir Walter Lawrence, the Viceroy's Private Secretary, who was present, congratulated me and said, 'I hope we shall meet often'. We, however, never met at all.

Before I leave the Madras Congress of 1898 it is only right and proper that I should refer to Mr. Ananda Mohan Bose's presidential speech. It was a masterly performance, one of the greatest orations ever heard from a Congress platform. Perhaps the voice of the orator was not equal to the occasion, but this was fully made up for by the inspiring earnestness and the penetrating conviction that lay behind every utterance; and, when it is borne in mind that Mr. Bose's health was not good at the time, onc marvels at the performance.

Mr. Ananda Mohan Bose, with his great intellectual and moral gifts, did not combine that physical robustness which sets them off to the best advantage, nor, I have to add regretfully, did he take that great care of his health which I regard as the first and foremost duty of all our public men. Their lives are to the community an invaluable possession; and length of days must invest their judgments with a maturity, their utterances with a weight, their personalities with a halo of reverence, almost an air of sanctity, that should make them national assets beyond all price. This is a consideration that I fear our public men do not always bear in mind, and we have had so often to mourn their premature loss.

Immersed in his multifarious public duties, social, religious and political, Mr. Bose was careless of his health, and suffered for it. He had been to England in 1898 and returned home in September. We gave him a public reception at the Town Hall. I made a speech proposing the adoption of the address to him. He rose to reply, but, after he had uttered a few sentences, he completely broke down and fell back into his chair. The meeting had to be broken up. While he was in this weak state of health, an invitation was addressed to him by the Madras Reception Committee to preside at the Congress. His friends hesitated; his doctors shook their heads; but his sense of duty overmastered him; he responded to the call and delivered the magnificent address to which I have referred.

In his noble life, there was a still nobler instance of self-surrender and of thrilling devotion to the cause of country to which it will be my duty to call attention later on.