A Nation in Making/Chapter 8
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The Contempt Case: Imprisonment
The leaderette in the Bengalee—prosecuted for contempt of court—public excitement—the trial—condemnation and imprisonment—demonstrations of sympathy; attitude of the Statesman—'Good cometh out of evil'—a national Fund—my life in prison—my release.
The next incident in my journalistic career that I think should be placed on record is the Contempt Case, for which I was sent to prison for two months. I claim the honour (for such I deem it) of being the first Indian of my generation who suffered imprisonment in the discharge of a public duty. The Swarajists now make imprisonment a qualification for public service. Well, I claim that I possess it, even from their standpoint, and that I was qualified long before any one of them.
The facts of the Contempt Case are these. On April 2, 1883, the following leaderette appeared in the Bengalee:
'The Judges of the High Court have hitherto commanded the universal respect of the community. Of course, they have often erred, and have often grievously failed in the performance of their duties. But their errors have hardly ever been due to impulsiveness, or to the neglect of the commonest considerations of prudence or decency. We have now, however, amongst us a judge, who, if he does not actually recall to mind the days of Jeffreys and Scroggs, has certainly done enough, within the short time that he has filled the High Court Bench, to show how unworthy he is of his high office, and how by nature he is unfitted to maintain those traditions of dignity which are inseparable from the office of the judge of the highest Court in the land. From time to time we have in these columns adverted to the proceedings of Mr. Justice Norris. But the climax has now been reached, and we venture to call attention to the facts as they have been reported in the columns of a contemporary. The Brahmo Public Opinion is our authority, and the facts stated are as follows: Mr. Justice Norris is determined to set the Hooghly on fire. The last act of zubberdusti on his Lordship's part was the bringing of a saligram, a stone idol, into court for identification. There have been very many cases both in the late Supreme Court and the present High Court of Calcutta regarding the custody of Hindu idols, but the presiding deity of a Hindu household had never before this had the honour of being dragged into Court. Our Calcutta Daniel looked at the idol and said it could not be a hundred years old. So Mr. Justice Norris is not only versed in Law and Medicine, but is also a connoisseur of Hindu idols. It is difficult to say what he is not. Whether the orthodox Hindus of Calcutta will tamely submit to their family idols being dragged into Court is a matter for them to decide, but it does seem to us that some public steps should be taken to put a quietus to the wild eccentricities of this young and raw Dispenser of Justice.
"What are we to think of a judge who is so ignorant of the feelings of the people and so disrespectful of their most cherished convictions, as to drag into Court, and then to inspect, an object of worship which only Brahmins are allowed to approach, after purifying themselves according to the forms of their religion? Will the Government of India take no notice of such a proceeding? The religious feelings of the people have always been an object of tender care with the Supreme Government.
'Here, however, we have a judge who, in the name of Justice, sets these feelings at defiance and commits what amounts to an act of sacrilege in the estimation of pious Hindus. We venture to call the attention of the Govern- ment to the facts here stated, but we have no doubt due notice will be taken of the conduct of the Judge.'
The leaderette was based on information that appeared in the now defunct newspaper, the Brahmo Public Opinion. The Brahmo Public Opinion was edited by the late Babu Bhubon Mohan Das (Mr. C. R. Das's father), a well-known solicitor of the High Court. As no contradiction appeared, I accepted the version as absolutely correct, especially in view of the fact that Babu Bhubon Mchan Das, being a solicitor and an officer of the Court, might naturally be presumed to be well informed on all matters in connexion with the High Court. I reproduced the substance of what appeared in the Brahmo Public Opinion and commented upon it.
Soon after I received a writ from the High Court to show cause why I should not be committed for Contempt of Court. The writ was served on me on May 2 and May 5 was fixed as the day for the hearing. The time was short; and my difficulty was that I could not get any barrister to take up the brief on my behalf. Mr. Mono- mohan Ghose was ill and confined to bed. Mr. W. C. Bonnerjea at last undertook to defend me, but on the distinct understanding that I should apologize and withdraw the reflections I had made on Mr. Justice Norris. As the comparison which I had suggested in the incriminating paragraph between him and Scroggs and Jeffreys was unfair and indefensible, written in a moment of heat and indignation, I readily consented.
On May 5, the case came on before a Full Bench consisting of five judges, among whom was Sir Romesh Chunder Mitter, and was presided over by the Chief Justice, the late Sir Richard Garth. I had moved from Calcutta to Barrackpore in 1880 and was living there at the time. I came down to attend the High Court that morning from my residence at Barrackpore. I told my wife. when taking leave of her that I was likely to be sent to prison, and I came prepared for it with my bedding and the books that I wanted to read during my enforced leisure.
I was in Court by about half past ten. The Court premises and the environments were swarming with a surging crowd; and a large body of police, European and Indian, were in attendance. The student community had mustered in strong force, and among them I noticed some who rose to high distinction as servants of the Crown. In the demonstration that followed the passing of the sentence they took a leading part in a fashion common among young men all over the world, smashing windows and pelting the police with stones. One of those rowdy youths was Ashutosh Mukherjea, subsequently so well known as a judge of the High Court and as Vice-Chancellor of the Calcutta University. Another young man who was rowdy and broke the law was sent to prison for a week. His cell in the Presidency Jail was opposite mine; and every day he would make it a point to catch my eye in the early hours of the morning and salute me with a pranam. The young man, I understand, afterwards became a Sub-Registrar. Neither the Government nor he was the worse for this episode in his life. The mistake that is so often committed is to magnify such incid- ents and read into them a purpose and a meaning that they do not bear. Rowdyism of this kind committed now by a young man would, I fear, condemn him to lifelong exclusion from the service of Government. The struggle for equal rights had then just begun, and official feeling was perhaps somewhat more generous and less unrelenting than now. There are, however, happily growing signs of a return to the old days.
But from the streets adjoining the High Court let me turn to the Court-room where the judges were to assemble. It was densely crowded. Not an inch of space was left on the floor or in the galleries. I had to elbow my way along with my counsel. It was past eleven o'clock; but the judges had not yet come. They were closeted in the Chief Justice's room in close conference. We came to know afterwards what the conference was about. There was an eager discussion about the sentence to be passed. The majority of the judges, and they were Europeans, were for sentencing me to imprisonment. Mr. Justice Romesh Chunder Mitter insisted upon a fine only. The day before, so the report went, the Chief Justice had seen him at his private residence and had talked to him and argued with him, with a view to persuading him to agree with the majority, but all in vain. At the conference the arguments were repeated with the added weight of the personal authority of the other judges. But Mr. Justice Mitter remained unconvinced, relying on the precedent created in Taylor's case, where the Chief Justice, Sir Barnes Peacock, had deemed the infliction of a fine sufficient.
At last, when it was past half past eleven, the five judges appeared and took their seats on the Bench. The Chief Justice read out the judgment on behalf of the majority of his colleagues, putting in a slip, which was evidently a later production, that he and his collea- gues disagreed with Mr. Justice Mitter. Mr. Justice Mitter then read out his dissenting judgment, after which the judges left the Court. The crowd in the Court-room slowly followed.
Outside in the streets, among the thousands that were gathered together, there were signs of excitement and even indignation. The prison-van was at the Court-gate ready for me; but, in view of the attitude of the crowd, I was conveyed in a private carriage, leaving the Court by the judges' entrance, and was taken by a roundabout way to the Presidency Jail. Mr. Larymore, the Superintendent of the jail, was present, expecting my arrival. Mr. Larymore was a warm-hearted Irishman. He and I were friends, for we had sat round the same table as Municipal Commissioners of Calcutta. He treated me with all the courtesy that his official position permitted.
At the time when I arrived at the Presidency Jail, it was not known whether I should be lodged in the civil or criminal side of the jail. Mr. Larymore was waiting for orders, but he had already given me to understand that, in case I had to be in the criminal jail, he would give me a separate cell and would not insist upon my putting on prison-dress. But these difficulties were soon set at rest. The order arrived that I was to be a civil prisoner; and Mr. Lary- more gave me comfortable quarters in the upper storey of the civil jail. The same afternoon my friend, Mr. B. L. Gupta, who was then Presidency Magistrate of Calcutta, called on me to express his sympathy and to make me comfortable so far as lay in his power.
It is due to the prison authorities to say that, while in no way relaxing their rules, they treated me with courtesy and due regard to my feelings. I was never asked to go down to the muster, which was held in the yard every afternoon. It was sufficient for me to stand in the verandah. Visitors were allowed free access to me, and they were counted by scores every day, and my letters and telegrams were duly delivered to me. They were so numerous that, Mr. Larymore told me, he had to employ a special messenger for the purpose. My wife once came to see me, escorted by the venerable Robert Knight, editor of the Statesman. The Statesman wrote a series of articles condemning the sentence of imprisonment passed on me. The Statesman valiantly championed the cause of right and justice, and the Indian public showed their appreciation of Mr. Robert Knight's services by holding a public meeting and raising a fund to help him when involved in a defamation case brought against him by the Burdwan Raj. I was a speaker at that meeting.
The news of my imprisonment created a profound impression not only in Calcutta, and in my own province, but throughout India. In Calcutta, on the day of my imprisonment, the Indian shops were closed and business was suspended in the Indian part of the town, not by order, or by an organized effort, but under a spontaneous impulse which moved the whole community. The students went into mourning. The demonstrations held in Calcutta were so large that no hall could find space for the crowds that sought admittance: the bazaars were utilized for the purpose. Then was first started the practice of holding open-air meetings, and these were demons- trations not confined to the upper ten thousand or the educated classes: the masses joined them in their thousands. Hindu feeling had been touched. A Hindu god had been brought to a court of law; and, whatever the legal merits of the case might have been (and with these the general public do not usually trouble them- selves), the orthodox Hindu felt, rightly or wrongly, that there had been an act of desecration. The educated community, though sympathizing with their orthodox countrymen, were impelled by motives of a different order. The Ilbert Bill controversy, in which Mr. Justice Norris had unfortunately taken a prominent part, unbecoming his judicial position, had roused them to a fever-heat of excitement. They further felt that a sentence of a fine, as in the Taylor Case, cited by Mr. Justice Mitter, would have been sufficient, and they scented in the punishment of imprisonment inflicted on me a flavour of party feeling unworthy of the traditions of the highest Judicial Bench.
In the whole course of my public life, I have never witnessed, except in connexion with the agitation for the modification of the Partition of Bengal, an upheaval of feeling so genuine and so wide-spread as that which swept through Bengal, in 1883. Public meetings of sympathy for me, and of protest against the judgment of the High Court, were held in almost every considerable town. So strong was the feeling that in some cases even Government servants took part in them and suffered for it. But these demon- strations were not of the evanescent order. They left an enduring impress on the public life of the province.
When the public mind has been roused by some great event, it struggles for expression in all directions, in melodious songs, in passionate utterances in the Press and from the platform, and in enterprises which bear on them the ineffaceable mark of daring and originality. This is illustrated in the great events of history. in the stimulus to national life and enterprise that was witnessed in the Elizabethan epoch. Poetry, original research, commercial and naval enterprise for the discovery of new worlds, all went apace. The soul of England was bodied forth in them all. The beginnings of such a stimulus, though on a much smaller scale, were witnessed in the upheaval that sprang from the Contempt Case. It gave an impetus to journalism. The Sulava Samachar had been started as a pice paper by the late Keshub Chunder Sen, but the movement for cheap journalism had languished. Now, however, it received an awakened impulse in the passionate desire for news. Babu Jogendranath Bose started the Bangabasi as a pice paper. His example was followed by Babu Kristo Kumar Mitter. The Bangabasi and the Sanjibani still continue to hold an important place in the journalistic world of Bengal.
As our public meetings now began to be attended by thousands, so our cheap vernacular papers for the first time counted their readers by thousands. But there were indeed wider developments which followed in the track of this great outburst of public feeling. One of them was an object for which I had striven so hard, and which educated India had begun to place in the forefront of its programme. The Contempt Case, as it was called, operated as a unifying influence, strengthening the growing bonds of fellowship and good feeling between the different Indian provinces. Meetings of sympathy with me in my misfortune were held in many of the great towns of India—Lahore, Amritsar, Agra, Fyzabad, Poona, and other important centres. A well-known writer under the nom de plume of Setji Sorabji thus referred to these demonstrations in an open letter addressed to Gup and Gossip of June 18, 1884:
'Last year, at one of the public meetings held in Upper India for your liberty, I heard a Kashmiri pundit, a man of years and honours, but incapable of construing one word of English into his mother-tongue—heard this grave and elderly man sob while he referred to your imprison- ment. Tears, salt and bitter tears choked his utterance as he cried, "What have they done with our dearest brother? Our Surendranath is in jail." And a like passion of agony was wrung from every Indian heart, and universal mourning was observed throughout the land.'
The late Ananda Mohan Bose, referring to the political consequences of my imprisonment, thus observed in the Report of the Indian Association for 1883:
'That "good cometh out of evil" was never more fully illustrated than in this notable event. It has now been demonstrated, by the universal outburst of grief and indignation which the event called forth, that the people of the different Indian provinces have learnt to feel for one another; and that a common bond of unity and fellow-feeling is rapidly being established among them. And Babu Surendranath Banerjea has at least one consolation, that his misfortune awakened, in a most marked form, a manifestation of that sense of unity among the different Indian races, for the accomplishment of which he has so earnestly striven and not in vain.'
Babu Tarapada Banerjee of Krishnagar started the idea of a National Fund as a memento of my imprisonment. It was a fruitful conception, for since then other national funds have been started for national purposes. The amount collected came to about Rs. 20,000; and the subscribers at a meeting decided to make it over to the Indian Association of Calcutta for the promotion of political work. The amount is small, but it has been found helpful to have a permanent fund at our disposal, a sort of nucleus drawing to it funds from other sources and inspiring public workers with the belief that the sinews of war would never be wanting. This fund was most useful in the anti-Partition agitation, when the attitude of Government and the doctrine of the 'settled fact', paraded ad nauseam, had the effect of deterring our wealthy men from contributing to a cause with which in their heart of hearts they sympathized, but which they dared not openly support for fear of incurring the displeasure of the authorities.
It is right and proper that I should stop here for a moment to pay a tribute to the memory of an old friend and co-worker, Babu Tarapada Banerjee. For years together he was the most prominent figure in the public life of Krishnagar, the supporter and sometimes the inaugurator of public movements in that ancient town. His death was a heavy loss to the national party, and it will be long before a successor appears, wielding his influence and fired with his courage and enthusiasm. It is not always that a public man, living in a provincial town, is able to rise to fame and distinction, or acquire for himself a name beyond his parochial or local limits. But the history of nation-building in Bengal would be an inadequate record if it omitted to mention the work accomplished by men like Tarapada Banerjee, Ambika Churn Majumder, Baikuntanath Sen, Aswini Kumar Dutt, Anath Bandhu Guha, Ananda Chunder Roy, Kissory Mohan Chowdhury and others. They may not all be known to fame in the same degree; but they have all worked in the national cause in spite of many difficulties and drawbacks, and some have suffered. They have laid their contemporaries under a heavy obligation, which should at least be duly acknowledged by those who were their colleagues.
My term of imprisonment began on May 5, 1883; and I was released on July 4, a great day in the world's history, the day of American Independence, of which my friends took the utmost advantage. I suffered as a 'defender of the faith'. It was quite well known that orthodox Hinduism did not appeal to me, that my ideals were progressive, and that my social life was in conformity with those ideals. That one with my views and convictions should stand forth in defence of the cherished feelings of my orthodox countrymen and should suffer for it, was deemed to be an act of no mean merit. The sentiment was indeed universal. When a great wave of feeling sweeps overs the public mind, it breaks its barriers and rushes into channels beyond its scope. The educated community, restive and uneasy, swayed by the feelings evoked by the Ilbert Bill controversy, and perhaps not unmindful of my own public services, shared the general indignation. My personal friends were grieved and mortified. The sentence of imprisonment seemed to them to be the climax of a wrong done to me. My friend, Mr. B. L. Gupta, was then Presidency Magistrate of Calcutta. As soon as he heard the sentence, he stopped the work of the Court and came straight to the Presidency Jail to see me. Sympathy, so open and undisguised on the part of so high an officer of Government, with its implication of tacit disapproval of the judicial sentence of the highest Court in the land, was the subject of talk and even of public comment. One of the leading newspapers, which then enjoyed the reputation of a semi-official publication, called attention to this incident. But these little things never disturbed the equanimity of my friend, Mr. Behari Lal Gupta; and with confidence undimmed and his bright eyes fixed on the radiant side of life, he trudged along the path of official preferment till he became an officiating judge of a High Court in British India and Prime Minister in an Indian State.
In prison, I was treated as a first-class misdemeanant. I was allowed to read and write as I liked. I continued writing for the Bengalee. My letters and telegrams were delivered to me unopened, and were allowed to pass the prison-gates without inspection. There was no restriction as to the number of visitors who were to see me. Presents of fruits (for it was the mango season) and eatables were passed on to me without any objection of any kind, and the Superintendent did all he could to alleviate the hardships of my confinement. After the muster-roll had been called, the gates were closed and visitors were not allowed. I passed the evenings in conversation with fellow-prisoners detained for their debts. They offered to entertain me with music, but, as I ascertained that it would be contrary to the jail regulations, I declined it. Except that it was a bit tiresome, I rather enjoyed my detention. For it was to me a comfortable spell of rest such as I had not enjoyed for many long years; and when I felt the jail I found that I had added to my weight by several pounds.
I was released from prison early on the morning of July 4. The day before, Mr. Stevens, the Magistrate of the 24-Parganas, who afterwards officiated for some time as Lieutenant-Governor of Bengal, saw me in prison. The cause of this somewhat surprising visit was soon apparent. I lived at Manirampore near Barrackpore, which was within his jurisdiction. He apprehended that there would be a demonstration on my return home, and he was anxious that I should take measures to prevent it. I did not see my way to falling in with his views. I told him what was intended by my friends and neighbours at Barrackpore, for they had placed them- selves in communication with me, and he tried to discourage the movement. I said that there would be no music or procession in the streets, but that a meeting would be held to welcome me home at the house of my friend, Babu Hara Kissen Sircar, near the railway station. It was his private residence and not a public place. I added that an Englishman's house was his castle, and that as British subjects we had the same privileges, and I did not see my way to discouraging the proposal of my friends. Mr. Stevens did not further press his point, and when taking leave of me said that he would be present at the railway station at Barrackpore to see that everything passed off well. I thanked him and said, half in jest, that I deemed it a great honour that the official head of the district should be at the station to receive me. And so he was awaiting my arrival at the railway station when I returned to Barrackpore on the evening of July 4. A Bengalee Assistant Superintendent of Police followed me in a separate carriage all the way to my house, a distance of nearly three miles from the station.
I afterwards learnt that the military force stationed in the cantonment of Barrackpore was kept ready the whole day for fear of any eventualities. The officers of the regiment were mostly Indians, some of them Gaur Brahmins like myself. They came and saw me afterwards. Their interest in my case was quickened by the orders of Government, and they wanted to know more of it than they did before. Bureaucracy is at times nervous and distrustful. In this case it sought to prevent a public demonstration. The very preparations that in its unwisdom it made, helped to spread the story of my imprisonment among a class of people notoriously indifferent to what is taking place in the world outside their own.
The same solicitude on their part to prevent any demonstration in my honour was shown in the little device that was planned to release me from jail, when the period of my imprisonment terminated. Prisoners are released at six o'clock in the morning, at least that used to be the case in 1883. I was roused from sleep by the jailor at 4 a.m. and was put into a hackney carriage and driven through various parts of the town till six o'clock, when the jailor dropped me at the Bengalee office. All this was done to avoid a demonstration. But the policy was truly ostrich-like. It helped to create two demonstrations instead of one. The crowds that, in the early hours of the morning had surged round the Presidency Jail to witness my release, came all the way to the Bengalee office. The trick only served to redouble their enthusiasm, there being thus a demonstration in front of the jail and another near the Bengalee office. Wisdom comes late, if indeed it comes at all, to those who, firm in their omniscience, refuse to open their eyes to the growing and irresistible forces of time.