A Nation in Making/Chapter 22

​22

The Settled Fact

The month of October was rapidly approaching. The 16th October was to be the day on which the Partition of Bengal was to take effect. For Bengal it was to be a day of national mourning. We were resolved to observe it as such, and the country warmly responded to our call. The programme of mourning was fixed in consultation with the mofussil leaders, and was widely circulated. There was to be: (1) The Rakhi-Bandhan ceremony—the red band of brotherly union was to be tied round the wrists of all whom we welcomed as brothers. It was to be the revival of an ancient Indian custom, and was to be emblematic of the new brotherly bond between the sundered province and old Bengal, (2) The 16th of October was to be observed as a day of fasting. The domestic hearth was not to be lit; food was not to be cooked except for the sick and the invalid; the shops were to be closed, business was to be suspended; people were to walk barefooted, and bathe in the Ganges in the early morning hours for purposes of purification. It was a self-denying ordinance, but it was cheerfully accepted, and, as the sequel showed, the heart and soul of the nation were in it.

But this was not all. The day was to be marked by the inauguration of a plan of constructive work. I proposed the building of a Federation Hall, which, assuming that the Partition was not undone or modified, was to be the meeting-ground of the old province and its severed parts, the mark and symbol of their indivisible union. The idea suggested itself to me from what I saw at the Hotel des Invalides in Paris, where round the tomb of the great Napoleon are laurelled statues, representative of the different provinces. Those of Alsace and Lorraine were at the time veiled and shrouded. To me it seemed that we should have a memorial of that sort, statues of all the districts in Bengal, those of the sundered districts being shrouded until the day of their reunion. The Hall would serve other purposes of a public nature. It would keep alive ​the remembrance of our severance, and thus be an ever-living stimulus to our efforts to secure our reunion.

The proposal was carefully considered, and it was warmly supported by the late Sir Taraknath Palit and Sister Nivedita of the Ramkrishna Mission, that beneficent lady who had consecrated her life to, and died in, the service of India. Sir Taraknath Palit will go down to posterity as a princely benefactor in the cause of scientific education in Bengal; but he was a man of many-sided sympathies. When his soul was stirred, he was quite an active figure in our politics, helping and guarding our public interests with all the clear insight of an astute lawyer, and the warmth and enthusiasm of a generous friend. He was heart and soul with us in our efforts to undo the Partition, and, though stricken down by a fatal disease, he was with us whenever he could attend, and his clear-sighted guidance was to us a valuable help.

But laying the foundation-stone of the Federation Hall was not the only function fixed for the 16th October. The anti-Partition agitation and the Swadeshi movement were linked together, and it was decided to hold a great demonstration in order to raise a National Fund, chiefly for the purpose of helping the weaving industry.

Such, in short, was the programme fixed for the 16th October, 1905, the day on which the Partition of Bengal was to take place. Our workers had been out all night, looking after the arrangements for the morrow. They were tired and exhausted, but full of high spirits, cheered by the conviction that the programme would be successfully carried out. The day dawned; the streets of Calcutta re-echoed from the early hours of the morning with the cry of Bande-Mataram, as band after band of men, young and old, paraded the streets on their way to bathe in the river, stopping at intervals to tie the rakhi round the wrists of passers-by. They were often accompanied by Sankirton parties singing the Bande-Mataram and other patriotic songs. The bathing-ghats were crammed with a surging mass of men and women, all furnished with quantities of rakhis, which they tied round the wrists of friends and acquaintances, and even of strangers.

I was out early in the morning visiting Beadon Square, Central College, and other places, which were thronged with people, whom I addressed. Crowds of young men took the dust of my feet and embraced me. My arms were red with the rakhis tied round them. It was a day worth living for—a day of inspiration that perhaps ​comes only once in a lifetime; but it was also a day of hard and strenuous work.

The meeting for laying the foundation-stone of the Federation Hall was fixed for 3.30 p.m. Long before the appointed hour, the grounds where the meeting was to be held were filled with a surging crowd, which flowed out into the streets, now rendered quite impassable. It was estimated that at least fifty thousand people must have been present. Yet so quiet and orderly was this vast assemblage that not a policeman was required, and no policeman was to be seen. The police had mustered strong in the different police stations, but their services were not needed either to main- tain order or to regulate traffic.

The function of laying the foundation-stone was to be performed by Mr. Ananda Mohan Bose. Of Mr. Ananda Mohan Bose I have spoken elsewhere and in another connexion. He came from one of the districts in the sundered province, the district of Mymensingh, and he not only regarded the Partition of Bengal as a great national calamity, but felt it as a personal grievance. He was now an invalid, the victim of a deadly disease which carried him off in less than twelve months' time. He was confined to his bed; but, as in the case of many other great men, the spirit rose above the ailments of the flesh; and, despite his weakness and the deepening shadow of his approaching end, his interest in public affairs continued unabated. We approached him. We consulted his medical advisers. They thought that under proper conditions he might be permitted to perform the function. To us it was a matter of great satisfaction that the foundation-stone would be laid by one of the noblest sons of Bengal, whose patriotic enthusiasm had been stirred by the severance, by autocratic power, of old and time- honoured associations.

The speech that he prepared on his sick-bed, amid the daily inroads of a mortal disease, is striking evidence of the triumph of mind and spirit over matter. I regard it as the greatest of his oratorical performances, and one of the noblest orations to which it has been one's privilege to listen. Indeed, judged by what happened within a few months, it was the song of the dying swan. The honour of reading the speech fell to me, for my friend was too weak to read it himself: he could not indeed stand on his legs. At the appointed hour, attended by his medical advisers and carried in an invalid's chair, he was brought to the meeting amid cries of Bande-Mataram, the whole of that vast audience rising to its feet, ​as if to salute one who had risen from the dead. For months the public had heard nothing of Ananda Mohan Bose, except the news of his illness and of his growing infirmities, which were hurrying him on to his end.

Quiet being restored, Sir Gurudas Banerjee rose from his, seat on the platform and in an impressive and eloquent speech delivered in Bengalee, in which he strongly condemned the Partition, proposed Ananda Mohan Bose to the chair. The proposal was carried by acclamation. The appearance of Sir Gurudas Banerjee on the platform of a political meeting and in the rôle of a speaker was a fact so significant that it should have opened the eyes of the authorities to the deep feeling that lay behind the anti-Partition movement. A judge has no politics. According to Sir Gurudas, an ex-judge should have none. We may or may not accept this view. Some of the most distinguished of Indian judges have been of a different opinion, and after their retirement from the Bench have not hesitated to take their share in the political movements of the day; but that was not Sir Gurudas's opinion, and he stuck to it, with that quiet determination which so pre-eminently distinguished the man. On this occasion he was possibly overborne by the all- pervading influence of an irresistible public feeling, which penetrated our hearths and our homes, and captured the minds of young and old, rich and poor, men and women, alike. All bitterly resented the Partition. Some pretended to be neutral. Office-seekers and sycophants affected to be pleased.

The Chairman having been duly proposed, I read out the speech. I think I made myself heard by the vast audience that came to witness the proceedings, as I was told afterwards that the speech was distinctly heard from Mr. Ananda Mohan Bose's house, which was on the other side of the street. A Sikh priest of the highest social position, a descendant of Guru Nanak, Baba Kuar Singh, was among the audience, and he pronounced a benediction upon the function. Just before the foundation-stone was laid, Sir Ashutosh Chaudhuri read the following Proclamation in English, and Dr. Rabindranath Tagore followed him with a translation in Bengalee:

we started for the Federation grounds, just before the meeting was held. It was afterwards said that we had no right to issue a procla- mation, that being the exclusive function of the ruling authorities. I am unable to discuss the legal aspect of the question, which certainly did not trouble us at the time. We issued the Proclamation as a fitting sequel to a function that was to commemorate by a permanent memorial the indissoluble union between East and West Bengal. The Hall was to be the living symbol of our determination to counteract the evil influences of the Partition, and to maintain the integrity of our race; and we felt that it was as well that the fact should be set forth in a clear and emphatic statement, issued on a great occasion.

We afterwards purchased the Federation grounds in order to build the Hall. But the memorial became unnecessary. The Bengalee-speaking population, with the exception of those living in what may be called an outlying area, have been re-united by the modification of the Partition. A memorial hall, which was to com- memorate the dismemberment of our province and to remind us of our duty to bring about its reunion, was, therefore, not only un- necessary, but might prove hurtful by perpetuating memories of bitter controversies which should recede into the background of oblivion.

The function over, Mr. Ananda Mohan Bose was taken back under his medical escort across the road to his residence. He was none the worse for the strain and the effort. The undaunted spirit of the man and his noble fervour, which was proof against weakness and disease, bore him up. But there was something also in the moral atmosphere, in the patriotic determination and the fervid enthusiasm of that vast audience, to help and sustain him. Those near and dear to him were anxious, but they felt happy and proud that their illustrious relative had passed through an ordeal, the severest for a man in his state of health, and had performed a great function with a dignity and an eloquence worthy of the occasion.

After the ceremony, the crowd, all barefooted, wended their way to the house of Rai Pashupatinath Bose, a distance of nearly two miles. It had been decided that the collection for the National Fund, which was to help our industries, was to be made in the grounds of his palatial mansion. Due and adequate arrangements had been made for that purpose. Sir Ashutosh Chaudhuri, Mr. J. Chaudhuri, Mr. Ambika Churn Majumder and myself, along with a few other ​friends forming a party, walked barefooted along the flinty road. When we arrived at the house we found the grounds crammed with a vast and increasing crowd. It was impossible for me to make my way. People rushed forward to take the dust of my feet. I had better describe what happened from the columns of a daily newspaper giving an account of the scene:

A sum of Rs. 70,000 was collected on that day and in the course of a few hours. The amount was made up of small subscriptions. It was the gift of the great middle class of Bengal. Rajas and Maharajas indeed subscribed, but they paid small sums. There was no canvassing of any kind. It was a spontaneous gift prompted by the emotions of the hour. It was to be devoted to the encouragement of weaving and the promotion of the domestic industries. Some money was spent upon a weaving school, which, however, did not prosper and had to be closed. The balance of the money is now in the Imperial Bank under the control of trustees. Out of the interest a monthly grant is made to the Home Industries Association, established by Lady Carmichael, and to a school for the industrial training of Indian women.

The months that followed the 16th October, 1905, were months of great excitement and unrest. The policy of the Government, especially that of East Bengal under Sir Bampfylde Fuller, added to the tension of the situation. He declared, half in jest, half in seriousness, to the amazement of all sober-minded men, that he had two wives, Hindu and Mohamedan, but that the Mohamedan was the favourite wife. A ruler who could publicly indulge in a display of offensive humour of this kind was clearly unfit for the high office which he held. The Civil Service took their cue from him; and his administration was conducted upon lines in the closest conformity with the policy which he had so facetiously announced. The taint spread to the judicial Bench, and in a well-known case brought down upon the erring judge the just censure of the High ​Court of Calcutta. In reversing the sentences passed upon the prisoners in the great Comilla Rioting Case in 1907, the High Court observed:

This is very strong language, coming from the High Court with its great traditions of scrupulous fairness and judicial sobriety. But if preference or class bias had been the only fault of the new Government established in East Bengal, the position would not have been so grave as it soon became. The Partition was followed by a policy of repression, which added to the difficulties of the Government and the complexities of the situation. The cry of Bande-Mataram, as I have already observed, was forbidden in the public streets, and public meetings in public places were prohibited. Military police were stationed in peaceful centres of population, and they committed assaults upon honoured members of the Hindu community, which excited the deepest public indignation. Respectable citizens were charged with sedition for issuing a Swadeshi circular, and Babu Aswini Kumar Dutt, the revered leader of the people of Barisal, a man universally respected, was so charged by Mr. Jack. The accusation was baseless and Babu Aswini Kumar Dutt obtained damages against him for libel in a Civil Court. The climax was reached when the police assaulted the delegates of the Bengal Provincial Conference at Barisal in April, 1906, and forcibly dispersed the Conference.