Back in India

So I sailed for home. Mauritius was one of the ports of call, and as the boat made a long halt there, I went ashore and acquainted myself fairly well with the local conditions. For one night I was the guest of Sir Charles Bruce, the Governor of the Colony.

So I sailed for home. Mauritius was one of the ports where we stopped. Since the ship stayed there for a long time, I went ashore and learned a fair amount about local conditions. For one night, I was the guest of Sir Charles Bruce, the Governor of the Colony.

After reaching India I spent some time in going about the country. It was the year 1901 when the Congress met at Calcutta under the presidentship of Mr. (now Sir) Dinshah Wachha. And I of course attended it. It was my first experience of the Congress.

After reaching India, I spent some time traveling around the country. In 1901, the Congress met in Calcutta, with Mr. (now Sir) Dinshah Wachha as president. Of course, I attended. It was my first experience of the Congress.

From Bombay I travelled in the same train as Sir Phirozeshah Mehta, as I had to speak to him about conditions in South Africa. I knew the kingly style in which he lived. He had engaged a special saloon for himself, and I had orders to take my opportunity of speaking to him by travelling in his saloon for one stage. I, therefore, went to the saloon and reported myself at the appointed station. With him were Mr. Wachha, and Mr. (now Sir) Chimanlal Setalvad. They were discussing politics. As soon as Sir Phirozeshah saw me, he said, ‘Gandhi, it seems nothing can be done for you. Of course we will pass the resolution you want. But what rights have we in our own country? I believe, that so long as we have no power in our own land, you cannot fare better in the Colonies.’

I traveled from Bombay on the same train as Sir Phirozeshah Mehta because I needed to speak to him about conditions in South Africa. I knew he lived like a king. He had booked a private railway carriage for himself, and I was told to join him for one part of the journey so I could speak to him. So I went to his carriage and presented myself at the appointed station. Mr. Wachha and Mr. (now Sir) Chimanlal Setalvad were with him. They were discussing politics. As soon as Sir Phirozeshah saw me, he said, ‘Gandhi, it seems nothing can be done for you. Of course we will pass the resolution you want. But what rights do we have in our own country? I believe that as long as we have no power in our own land, you cannot fare any better in the Colonies.’

I was taken aback. Mr. Setalvad seemed to concur in the view; Mr. Wachha cast a pathetic look at me.

I was surprised. Mr. Setalvad seemed to agree with this view. Mr. Wachha gave me a sympathetic look.

I tried to plead with Sir Phirozeshah, but it was out of the question for one like me to prevail upon the uncrowned king of Bombay. I contented myself with the fact, that I should be allowed to move my resolution.

I tried to plead with Sir Phirozeshah, but someone like me had no chance of persuading the uncrowned king of Bombay. I settled for being allowed to propose my resolution.

‘You will of course show me the resolution,’ said Mr. Wachha, to cheer me up. I thanked him, and left them at the next stop.

‘You will show me the resolution, of course,’ said Mr. Wachha, trying to cheer me up. I thanked him and left them at the next stop.

So we reached Calcutta. The President was taken to his camp with great éclat by the Reception Committee. I asked a volunteer where I was to go. He took me to the Ripon College, where a number of delegates were being put up. Fortune favoured me. Lokamanya was put up in the same block as I. I have a recollection that he came a day later.

So we reached Calcutta. The Reception Committee escorted the President to his camp with great fanfare. I asked a volunteer where I should go. He took me to Ripon College, where several delegates were staying. I was lucky. Lokamanya was staying in the same block as I was. I remember that he arrived a day later.

And as was natural, Lokamanya would never be without his darbar. Were I a painter, I could paint him as I saw him seated on his bed,—so vivid is the whole scene in my memory. Of the numberless people that called on him, I can recollect today only one, namely, the late Babu Motilal Ghose, editor of the Amrita Bazar Patrika. Their loud laughter, and their talks about the wrong-doings of the ruling race cannot be forgotten.

As one would expect, Lokamanya was never without his darbar. If I were a painter, I could paint him as I saw him sitting on his bed. The whole scene is still so vivid in my memory. Of the countless people who visited him, I can remember only one today: the late Babu Motilal Ghose, editor of the Amrita Bazar Patrika. I cannot forget their loud laughter and their conversations about the wrongdoing of the ruling race.

But I propose to examine in some detail the appointments in this camp. The volunteers were clashing against one another. You asked one of them to do something. He delegated it to another, and he in his turn to a third, and so on; and as for the delegates, they were neither here nor there.

But I want to examine the arrangements at this camp in some detail. The volunteers were clashing with one another. If you asked one volunteer to do something, he passed the task to another. That volunteer passed it to a third, and so on. As for the delegates, they were nowhere to be found.

I made friends with a few volunteers. I told them some things about South Africa, and they felt somewhat ashamed. I tried to bring home to them the secret of service. They seemed to understand, but service is no mushroom growth. It presupposes the will first, and then experience. There was no lack of will on the part of those good simple-hearted young men, but their experience was nil. The Congress would meet three days every year, and then go to sleep. What training could one have out of a three days’ show once a year? And the delegates were of a piece with the volunteers. They had no better or longer training. They would do nothing themselves. ‘Volunteer, do this,’ ‘Volunteer, do that,’ were their constant orders.

I made friends with a few volunteers. I told them some things about South Africa, and they felt somewhat ashamed. I tried to help them understand the secret of service. They seemed to understand, but service does not spring up overnight. It requires willingness first, and then experience. Those good, simple-hearted young men had plenty of willingness, but no experience. The Congress would meet for three days each year, then go to sleep. What training could anyone get from a three-day show once a year? The delegates were just like the volunteers. Their training was no better or longer. They would do nothing themselves. They were always giving orders: ‘Volunteer, do this,’ ‘Volunteer, do that.’

Even here I was face to face with untouchability in a fair measure. The Tamilian kitchen was far away from the rest. To the Tamil delegates even the sight of others, whilst they were dining, meant pollution. So a special kitchen had to be made for them in the College compound, walled in by wicker-work. It was full of smoke which choked you. It was a kitchen, dining room, washroom, all in one,—a close safe with no outlet. To me this looked like a travesty of Varnadharma.¹⁶ If, I said to myself, there was such untouchability between the delegates of the Congress, one could well imagine the extent to which it existed amongst their constituents. I heaved a sigh at the thought.

Even here, I encountered a good deal of untouchability. The Tamilian kitchen was far from the others. To the Tamil delegates, even being seen by others while eating meant pollution. So a special kitchen had to be built for them in the College compound, enclosed by wickerwork. It was full of smoke that choked you. It served as a kitchen, dining room, and washroom all in one, a cramped enclosure with no outlet. To me, this seemed a travesty of Varnadharma.¹⁶ I thought that if such untouchability existed among the Congress delegates, one could well imagine its extent among their constituents. I sighed at the thought.

There was no limit to insanitation. Pools of water were everywhere. There were only a few latrines and the recollection of their stink still oppresses me. I pointed it out to the volunteers. They said pointblank: ‘That is not our work, it is the scavenger’s work.’ I asked for a broom. The man stared at me in wonder. I procured one, and cleaned the latrine. But that was for myself. The rush was so great, and the latrines were so few, that they needed frequent cleaning; but that was more than I could do. So I had to content myself with simply ministering to myself. And the others did not seem to mind the stench and the dirt.

The unsanitary conditions were endless. Pools of water were everywhere. There were only a few latrines, and the memory of their stench still weighs on me. I pointed out the problem to the volunteers. They said bluntly: ‘That is not our work, it is the scavenger’s work.’ I asked for a broom. The man stared at me in amazement. I found a broom and cleaned the latrine. But I did that for myself. The crowds were so large and the latrines so few that they needed frequent cleaning. But that was more than I could do. So I had to be content with taking care of my own needs. The others did not seem to mind the stench and dirt.

But that was not all. Some of the delegates did not scruple to use the verandahs outside their rooms for calls of nature at night. In the morning I pointed out the spots to the volunteers. No one was ready to undertake the cleaning, and I found no one to share the honour with me of doing it. Conditions have since considerably improved, but even today thoughtless delegates are not wanting, who disfigure the Congress camp by committing nuisance wherever they choose, and all the volunteers are not always ready to clean up after them.

But that was not all. Some delegates did not hesitate to relieve themselves at night on the verandahs outside their rooms. In the morning, I pointed out the spots to the volunteers. No one was willing to clean them, and I found no one to share the honor of doing it with me. Conditions have improved considerably since then, but even today some thoughtless delegates spoil the Congress camp by relieving themselves wherever they choose. And the volunteers are not all willing to clean up after them.

I saw, that if the Congress session were to be prolonged, conditions would be quite favourable for the outbreak of an epidemic.

I saw that if the Congress session continued, the conditions would be highly favorable for an epidemic to break out.