The Bombay Meeting

On the very day after my brother-inlaw’s death I had to go to Bombay for the public meeting. There had hardly been time for me to think out my speech. I was feeling exhausted after days and nights of anxious vigil, and my voice had become husky. However I went to Bombay trusting entirely to God. I had never dreamt of writing out my speech.

The very next day after my brother-in-law’s death, I had to go to Bombay for the public meeting. I had hardly had time to think through my speech. I was exhausted after days and nights of anxious watching, and my voice had grown hoarse. Still, I went to Bombay, trusting entirely in God. I had never dreamed of writing out my speech.

In accordance with Sir Phirozeshah’s instructions I reported myself at his office at 5 p.m. on the eve of the meeting.

Following Sir Phirozeshah’s instructions, I went to his office at 5 p.m. the day before the meeting.

‘Is your speech ready, Gandhi?’ he asked.

‘Is your speech ready, Gandhi?’ he asked.

‘No, sir,’ said I, trembling with fear, ‘I think of speaking ex tempore.’

‘No, sir,’ I said, trembling with fear. ‘I’m thinking of speaking without preparation.’

“That will not do in Bombay. Reporting here is bad, and if we would benefit by this meeting, you should write out your speech, and it should be printed before daybreak tomorrow. I hope you can manage this?’

“That won't work in Bombay. Reporting here is poor. If we want to benefit from this meeting, you should write out your speech. It should be printed before daybreak tomorrow. I hope you can manage that?’

I felt rather nervous, but I said I would try.

I felt a little nervous, but I said I would try.

‘Then, tell me, what time Mr. Munshi should come to you for the manuscript?’

‘Then, tell me, what time should Mr. Munshi come to you for the manuscript?’

‘Eleven o’clock tonight,’ said I.

‘Eleven o’clock tonight,’ I said.

On going to the meeting the next day, I saw the wisdom of Sir Phirozeshah’s advice. The meeting was held in the hall of the Sir Cowasji Jehangir Institute. I had heard, that when Sir Phirozeshah Mehta addressed meetings, the hall was always packed,—chiefly by the students intent on hearing him,—leaving not an inch of room. This was the first meeting of the kind in my experience. I saw that my voice could reach no one. I was trembling as I began to read my speech. Sir Phirozeshah cheered me up continually by asking me to speak louder and still louder. I have a feeling that far from encouraging me, it made my voice sink lower and lower.

When I went to the meeting the next day, I saw the wisdom of Sir Phirozeshah’s advice. The meeting was held in the hall of the Sir Cowasji Jehangir Institute. I had heard that the hall was always packed when Sir Phirozeshah Mehta spoke at meetings there. Most of the crowd were students eager to hear him, and not an inch of space was left. I had never attended a meeting of this kind before. I saw that no one could hear my voice. I was trembling as I began to read my speech. Sir Phirozeshah kept trying to encourage me by asking me to speak louder and louder. I feel that, far from encouraging me, his requests made my voice grow softer and softer.

My old friend Sjt. Keshavarao Deshpande came to my rescue. I handed my speech to him. His was just the proper voice. But the audience refused to listen. The hall rang with the cries of ‘Wachha,’ ‘Wachha.’ So Mr. Wachha stood up and read the speech, with wonderful results. The audience became perfectly quiet, and listened to the speech to the end, punctuating it with applause and cries of ‘shame’ where necessary. This gladdened my heart.

My old friend Sjt. Keshavarao Deshpande came to my rescue. I handed him my speech. He had just the right voice for it. But the audience refused to listen. The hall rang with cries of ‘Wachha,’ ‘Wachha.’ So Mr. Wachha stood up and read the speech, with wonderful results. The audience became completely quiet and listened to the end. They interrupted the speech with applause and cries of ‘shame’ where appropriate. This made me happy.

Sir Phirozeshah liked the speech. I was supremely happy.

Sir Phirozeshah liked the speech. I was overjoyed.

The meeting won me the active sympathy of Sjt. Deshpande and a Parsi friend whose name I hesitate to mention, as he is a high-placed Government official today. Both expressed their resolve to accompany me to South Africa. Mr. C. M. Cursetji, who was then Small Causes Court Judge, however, moved the Parsi friend from his resolve, as he had plotted his marriage. He had to choose between marriage and going to South Africa, and he chose the former. But Parsi Rustomji made amends for the broken resolve, and a number of Parsi sisters are now making amends for the lady who helped in the breach by dedicating themselves to Khadi work. I have therefore gladly forgiven that couple. Sjt. Deshpande had no temptations of marriage, but he too could not come. Today he is himself doing enough reparation for the broken pledge. On my way back to South Africa I met one of the Tyebjis at Zanzibar. He also promised to come and help me, but he never came. Mr. Abbas Tyebji is atoning for that offence. Thus none of my three attempts to induce barristers to go to South Africa bore any fruit.

The meeting won me the active support of Sjt. Deshpande and a Parsi friend. I hesitate to name the friend because he is now a high-ranking Government official. Both said they were determined to accompany me to South Africa. Mr. C. M. Cursetji, who was then a Small Causes Court Judge, persuaded the Parsi friend to change his mind. He had arranged the friend’s marriage. The friend had to choose between marriage and going to South Africa, and he chose marriage. But Parsi Rustomji made up for the broken promise. And a number of Parsi sisters are now making up for the lady who helped break it by dedicating themselves to Khadi work. I have therefore gladly forgiven that couple. Sjt. Deshpande faced no temptation to marry, but he too could not come. Today he is himself doing enough to make up for his broken promise. On my way back to South Africa, I met one of the Tyebjis at Zanzibar. He also promised to come and help me, but he never came. Mr. Abbas Tyebji is making up for that offence. Thus, none of my three attempts to persuade barristers to go to South Africa succeeded.

In this connection I remember Mr. Pestonji Padshah. I had been on friendly terms with him ever since my stay in England. I first met him in a vegetarian restaurant in London. I knew of his brother Mr. Barjorji Padshah by his reputation as a ‘crank.’ I had never met him, but friends said that he was eccentric. Out of pity for the horses he would not ride in tramcars, he refused to take degrees in spite of a prodigious memory, he had developed an independent spirit, and he was a vegetarian, though a Parsi. Pestonji had not quite this reputation, but he was famous for his erudition even in London. The common factor between us however was vegetarianism, and not scholarship in which it was beyond my power to approach him.

This brings to mind Mr. Pestonji Padshah. We had been friends since my time in England. I first met him at a vegetarian restaurant in London. I knew of his brother, Mr. Barjorji Padshah, by his reputation as a ‘crank.’ I had never met him, but friends said he was eccentric. He would not ride in tramcars because he felt sorry for the horses. Despite his remarkable memory, he refused to earn degrees. He had developed an independent spirit, and he was a vegetarian, though he was a Parsi. Pestonji did not have quite the same reputation, but he was known for his learning even in London. What we had in common, however, was vegetarianism, not scholarship. In learning, I could not hope to compare with him.

I found him out again in Bombay. He was Prothonotary in the High Court. When I met him he was engaged on his contribution to a Higher Gujarati Dictionary. There was not a friend I had not approached for help in my South African work. Pestonji Padshah, however, not only refused to aid me, but even advised me not to return to South Africa.

I found him again in Bombay. He was the Prothonotary of the High Court. When I met him, he was working on his contribution to a Higher Gujarati Dictionary. I had asked every friend I had to help with my work in South Africa. Pestonji Padshah, however, not only refused to help me but also advised me not to return to South Africa.

‘It is impossible to help you,’ he said. ‘But I tell you I do not like even your going to South Africa. Is there lack of work in our own country? Look, now, there is not a little to do for our language. I have to find out scientific words. But this is only one branch of the work. Think of the poverty of the land. Our people in South Africa are no doubt in difficulty, but I do not want a man like you to be sacrificed for that work. Let us win self-government here, and we shall automatically help our countrymen there. I know I cannot prevail upon you, but I will not encourage any one of your type to throw in his lot with you.’

‘It is impossible for me to help you,’ he said. ‘But I tell you, I do not even like the idea of your going to South Africa. Is there a lack of work in our own country? Look, there is a great deal to do for our language. I have to find words for scientific terms. But that is only one branch of the work. Think of the poverty in our country. Our people in South Africa are certainly in difficulty, but I do not want a man like you to be sacrificed for that work. Let us win self-government here, and we will automatically help our countrymen there. I know I cannot persuade you, but I will not encourage anyone like you to join you.’

I did not like this advice, but it increased my regard for Mr. Pestonji Padshah. I was struck with his love for the country and for the mother tongue. The incident brought us closer to each other. I could understand his point of view. But far from giving up my work in South Africa, I became firmer in my resolve. A patriot cannot afford to ignore any branch of service to the motherland. And for me the text of the Gita was clear and emphatic:

I did not like this advice, but it increased my respect for Mr. Pestonji Padshah. I was struck by his love for his country and his mother tongue. The incident brought us closer together. I could understand his point of view. But instead of giving up my work in South Africa, I became more determined to continue it. A patriot cannot afford to ignore any kind of service to the motherland. And for me, the words of the Gita were clear and emphatic: