A Nation in Making/Chapter 23

​23

Barisal

To the narrative of the events of the Barisal Conference, with which I was closely associated, I will now invite the reader's attention. I had gone with some friends to Dacca, just a few days before the Conference, to settle some points at issue between our workers. Our work being over, we proceeded by steamer from Dacca to Barisal. We arrived in the evening and found that the delegates from Calcutta and other places were already there. They had not landed, but were still on board the steamers awaiting our arrival. Certain questions had arisen, which they considered to be vital. and they wanted to settle them in consultation with me before they landed. The cry of Bande-Mataram was forbidden in the streets of Barisal, and indeed of all the towns in East Bengal. We held the order to be illegal, and we had fortified ourselves with competent legal opinion. Were we to submit to arbitrary authority, which was not countenanced by the law? Self-respect forbade submission. But the Barisal leaders had entered into an understanding with the authorities, by which they agreed to abstain from crying Bande-Mataram in the public streets, in welcoming the delegates. Were we bound by this agreement? The younger and more ardent section among the delegates were in favour of shouting Bande-Mataram despite the agreement. A compromise, however, was effected, which was readily acquiesced in and was acceptable to all parties. It was urged that the Barisal people were our hosts, and we were their guests, and that we should, if possible, do nothing that would compromise their position. Their compact with the authorities should be respected; but it was equally binding upon the delegates to vindicate the legal right, which they undoubtedly possessed, of uttering the cry in the public streets against the arbitrary order of the Government of East Bengal. The agreement of the Barisal leaders was limited to not uttering the cry on the occasion of welcoming the delegates, it did not go further. It was therefore settled, with their full concurrence on board the steamer, that the understanding with the Barisal leaders should be respected, ​but that on all other occasions during the Conference we should utter the cry as if no Government order to the contrary had been issued. This being agreed to, the delegates landed in the evening.

I took up my quarters at the residence of Mr. Behari Lal Roy, Zemindar of Lakutia, who was related to me by marriage. Mr. Behari Lal Roy was never a public man. Immersed in the affairs of his own estate, he had little time or inclination to interest himself in public movements. But the Partition of Bengal drew him forth, like so many others, from his seclusion and he became, and continued to be throughout, one of the warmest supporters of the anti-Partition and Swadeshi movements. A man like him would naturally like to stand well with the authorities. But the public feeling was so strong that he was carried away by its resistless current and joined the national party.

The Provincial Conference was to meet on Saturday, April 14. On the morning of the 14th a conference was held at the house of Mr. Behari Lal Roy, where I was staying. All the leading delegates were there, including representatives from the Anti-Circular Society, a society recently formed with Mr. Sachindra Prosad Bose as Secretary and Mr. Krishna Kumar Mittra as President, to take necessary action against the circular issued by the Bengal Government affecting students. They formed a devoted band of Swadeshi workers, composed mostly of young men, who rendered valuable service to the Swadeshi cause. It was decided at the Conference that the delegates should meet in the compound of Raja's haveli, and march in procession to the pandal where the Provincial Conference was to be held, crying Bande-Mataram as they went along. It was apprehended that the police would interfere and even use force; but it was strictly enjoined that in no circumstances were the delegates to retaliate and that they were not to carry lathis or even walking-sticks with them. Mr. B. C. Chatterjee, barrister-at- law, asked me if he might not have a walking-stick with him. 'Not even a walking-stick', was my curt and emphatic reply. The instruction was loyally carried out.

The procession was to start at about 2 p.m. I arrived at the place about half an hour before the time. We arranged the procession and made a start. The President, Mr. A. Rasool, and Mrs. Rasool, who was an English lady, led the procession in a carriage. We were in the first line, Babu Motilal Ghose, Editor of the Amrita Bazar Patrika, Babu Bhupendra Nath Basu and myself. The younger men were in the rear. The police were strongly in evidence. They ​were armed with regulation lathis; an Assistant Superintendent of Police was on horseback. There was really no occasion for all this demonstration of force. It was unnecessary and inexplicable except in the light of what followed.

We were allowed to pass unmolested. It was when the younger delegates, the members of the Anti-Circular Society, emerged from the haveli into the public street that the whole programme of the police was developed, and the attack was begun. They were struck with regulation lathis (fairly thick sticks, six feet long); the Bande-Mataram badges that they wore were torn off. Some of them were badly hurt, and one of them, Chittaranjan Guha, son of Babu Monoranjan Guha, a well-known Swadeshi worker and speaker, who afterwards was deported, was thrown into a tank full of water, in which, if he had not been rescued, he would probably have found a watery grave.

These young men had done nothing; they had not even before the assault uttered what to the Government of East Bengal was an obnoxious cry, that of Bande-Mataram. The head and front of their offence was that they were going along the public streets in a procession, causing no inconvenience or obstruction to anybody. It was after they had been attacked that they lustily shouted Bande-Mataram, and the air re-echoed with the cry. It was difficult to conceive a more wanton and unprovoked assault. The processionists, if they had committed any offence, might have been arrested; and the procession itself might have been broken up if it was thought desirable; but that did not suit the authorities, and I have no hesitation in saying, and it was the verdict of contemporary opinion, that a preconceived plan had been arranged, which was a part of the policy of terrorism that was being systematically followed in East Bengal, in the hope that the agitation against the Partition would be crushed out of existence. It was a vain hope. Repression failed here, as it has failed wherever it has been tried. It served only to strengthen the popular forces and to deepen the popular determination.

While all this was going on, we were marching ahead in blissful ignorance of the unholy activities of the police. Mr. Lalitmohan Ghosal, one of the delegates from Calcutta, came running up to us with outstretched hands, saying, 'What are you doing? You cannot proceed. Your brother-delegates behind are being beaten by the police.' I turned back at once, followed by Babu Motilal Ghose and one or two others. As I was coming along, I met ​Mr. Kemp, Superintendent of Police. I said to him, 'Why are you thrashing our men? If they have done anything, I am the person to be punished. I am responsible. Arrest me if you like.' 'You are my prisoner, sir', was the prompt reply of the Police Superin- tendent. At this stage Mr. Motilal Ghose came forward and said, 'Arrest me also'. To that Mr. Kemp's reply was, 'My instructions are to arrest Mr. Banerjea alone'. Evidently my arrest had been pre-arranged; but that is another story.

This part of the episode closed with my arrest. I was now a prisoner in police custody. Turning to Mr. Bhupendra Nath Basu, who was close by, I said, 'You had better proceed with the business of the Conference without me. Let it not be stopped or suspended.' My instructions were scrupulously followed. The excitement and indignation were great; but the Conference went on to transact the business that was before it as if nothing had happened. This display of self-restraint in circumstances so trying was no small testimony to our possessing one of the essential qualities for self-government.

In the meantime I was taken by Mr. Kemp to the Magistrate's house. We hired a ticka gharri (hackney carriage). Mr. Behari Lal Roy, Mr. Aswini Kumar Dutt and Pundit Kali Prosanna Kabyavisarad accompanied me. There was no room in the carriage for five of us, as Mr. Kemp, who had me in his charge, had to form one of the party. Kabyavisarad stood behind the carriage, occupying the place of the syce.

We were ushered into the verandah of Mr. Emerson's house, and stood there for a minute or so to give the magistrate time to be ready. We were then asked to enter his room. As Kabyavisarad crossed the threshold, Mr. Emerson cried out, 'Get out' in a somewhat loud voice. There was reason for this exceptional treat- ment of Kabyavisarad. Kabyavisarad belonged to the priestly family of the Halders of Kalighat, the keepers of one of the holiest shrines in Bengal. Usually he appeared at the anti-Partition and Swadeshi meetings robed in the habiliments of Hindu orthodoxy. It was not a mere whim (though Kabyavisarad had many), there was a reason for it. That dress was the symbol of priestly and Brahminical influence, and he naturally wanted to enlist on his side all the sources of power that he possessed. He was without a shirt, in plain dhoti and chaddar, with the Brahminical thread in striking evidence on his bare body. All this was meant for the delegates of the Conference, and not for Mr. Emerson or his Court. The magistrate was offended at the scantiness of his attire; and with ​less than magisterial dignity ordered him out of the room. Kabyavisarad had to submit, but he remained close to the door, so that he could see and hear what was transpiring in the magistrate's room, which for the time being was converted into a chamber of justice.

I entered the room as a prisoner, charged with breaking the law—no unique experience for me, as I had been in the same position some years ago, in a higher court and amid more dignified surroundings. My other two friends accompanied me into the room without objection and took their seats on the chairs that they found there. I was about to follow their example and had laid my hand on a dilapidated rattan chair, intending to take my seat when the magistrate shouted out, 'You are a prisoner. You cannot take your seat. You must stand.' I said in reply, 'I have not come here to be insulted by you in your house. I expect to be treated with courtesy and consideration.'

Mr. Emerson was angry. He forthwith drew up contempt proceedings against me, and asked me to plead. Of course, I pleaded not guilty and I prayed for time for my defence. There was sitting with the magistrate, while all this was going on, a European gentleman who, I afterwards learnt, was Mr. Lees, then Magistrate of Noakhali. He asked me to apologize and end the matter. I said, 'What have I to apologize for? I have done nothing for which I feel I ought to express my regret.' I was fined two hundred rupees for contempt.

The police case was then taken up. Mr. Kemp gave his evidence. He was, I think, the only witness in the case. I was charged with being a member of a procession which had not taken out a licence, and with uttering a cry forbidden by competent authority. I pleaded not guilty and prayed for time to cross-examine Mr. Kemp and produce witnesses. The prayer was rejected. I was again fined two hundred rupees. I had no money with me. Mr. Kemp, who throughout treated me with great courtesy, accompanied me for the realization of the fine.

The fine being paid, I returned to the Conference, which was then sitting. As I entered, accompained by my friends, we witnessed a unique scene, the whole audience rising to a man, shouting Bande-Mataram at the top of their voices. For several minutes the proceedings were suspended, and were resumed on our taking our seats on the platform. But the Conference was in no mood to address itself to the business on the agenda. The events of the day were too ​recent in point of time, too absorbing in their character, to permit the consideration of any other matter.

Presently there appeared on the platform Babu Monoranjan Guha, accompanied by his son, Chittaranjan Guha, with a bandage round his forehead, to tell the delegates the story of the assault committed by the police upon this young man. The father, who as a speaker wielded the resources of our language with wonderful power, told the story in his own inimitable style keeping the audience spellbound for the time. Chittaranjan had been attacked by the police with their regulation lathis, and thrown into a tank full of water. The assault was continued, notwithstanding the help- less condition of the boy, who offered no resistance of any kind, but shouted Bande-Mataram with every stroke of the lathi. It was a supreme effort of resignation and submission to brutal force without resistance and without questioning. The spectacle of father and son, standing side by side on the platform, the father relating the story, the son bearing witness to it by the marks of violence on his person, was a sight ever to be remembered; and it was afterwards transferred to canvas and was one of the most popular pictures in the Calcutta Exhibition of 1906, which was opened by Lord Minto.

The Conference broke up in the evening; and as the delegates dis- persed to their homes they shouted the forbidden cry of Bande-Mataram in the streets of Barisal. The police did not interfere. Presumably they thought they had done a sufficient day's work, and left the delegates alone.

But the story of this act of repression, one of the darkest in the annals of the defunct Government of East Bengal, was not yet closed. The Conference met on the following day, and was transact- ing its business in the usual way, when Mr. Kemp, District Superintendent of Police, entered the pandal. He walked up to the platform and told the President that the Conference must disperse, unless he was prepared to give a guarantee that the delegates would not shout Bande-Mataram in the streets after the Conference was over. The President, after consulting the delegates, declined to give the guarantee. Mr. Kemp then read out the order of the magistrate directing the dispersal of the Conference under Section 144 of the Criminal Procedure Code. A wave of indignation passed over the Conference. The delegates were in no mood to submit. ​Mr. J. Chaudhuri and other leaders appealed to them to respect authority, however arbitrary the fiat might seem to them, and they responded to the appeal. Throughout these exciting times, the discipline of our people and their readiness to submit to the advice of their leaders was conspicuously in evidence and largely contri- buted to the success of the movement.

The delegates left their seats, moving out in files into the public street, shouting Bande-Mataram. At every stage they sought to vindicate the legality of that cry. All left, save and except one and one alone. That was Mr. Krishna Kumar Mittra, editor of the Sanjibani, to whom I have had occasion to refer more than once in these pages. Like the senators of old when Brennus was entering Rome with his barbarian horde, he remained in his seat and would not move. Determination was painted upon his features; his face was red with indignation. He was prepared to face the consequences of the disobedience of authority. We argued, prayed and protested; and it was with the utmost difficulty that we persuaded him at last to leave the pandal.

There were about three hundred ladies who had come as visitors to the Conference. To them one of two alternatives was open, either to wait in the deserted pandal for their carriages, which had been ordered to fetch them home in the afternoon, or to return home almost without protection in the burning sun of April. They chose the latter, at what sacrifice it may be readily imagined by those who are familiar with the habits and temper of mind of the Indian lady. We all dispersed, somewhat amazed at the extraordinary order, which was ultra vires and perfectly indefensible, as no breach of the peace by the delegates could be reasonably apprehended after their quiet submission to the unbridled lawlessness of the police on the previous day. The order was couched in the following terms:

From the pandal many of us proceeded to the house of Babu Rajani Kanto Das, one of the leading members of the Barisal Bar. Soon a large crowd gathered there. Pundit Kabyavisarad, Mr. Bepin Chunder Pal and myself addressed them, urging them to continue the agitation against the Partition and to stick to the Swadeshi vow.