Kasturbai’s Courage

Thrice in her life my wife narrowly escaped death through serious illness. The cures were due to household remedies. At the time of her first attack Satyagraha was going on or was about to commence. She had frequent haemorrhage. A medical friend advised surgical operation, to which she agreed after some hesitation. She was extremely emaciated, and the doctor had to perform the operation without chloroform. It was successful, but she had to suffer much pain. She however went through it with wonderful bravery. The doctor and his wife who nursed her were all attention. This was in Durban. The doctor gave me leave to go Johannesburg, and told me not to have any anxiety about the patient.

Three times in her life, my wife nearly died from serious illness. Household remedies cured her. At the time of her first illness, Satyagraha was under way or about to begin. She suffered frequent bleeding. A doctor friend advised surgery, and she agreed after some hesitation. She was extremely weak and thin, so the doctor had to operate without chloroform. The operation was successful, but she suffered great pain. Yet she bore it with remarkable courage. The doctor and his wife nursed her and were very attentive. This happened in Durban. The doctor allowed me to go to Johannesburg and told me not to worry about her.

In a few days however I received a letter to the effect that Kasturbai was worse, too weak to sit up in bed, and had once become unconscious. The doctor knew that he might not, without my consent, give her wines or meat. So he telephoned to me at Johannesburg for permission to give her beef tea. I replied saying I could not grant the permission, but that if she was in a condition to express her wish in the matter she might be consulted, and she was free to do as she liked. ‘But,’ said the doctor, ‘I refuse to consult the patient’s wishes in the matter. You must come yourself. If you do not leave me free to prescribe whatever diet I like, I will not hold myself responsible for your wife’s life.’

A few days later, however, I received a letter saying that Kasturbai was worse. She was too weak to sit up in bed and had once lost consciousness. The doctor knew he could not give her wine or meat without my consent. So he telephoned me in Johannesburg for permission to give her beef tea. I replied that I could not give permission. But if she was well enough to express her wishes, she could be asked and was free to do as she liked. ‘But,’ said the doctor, ‘I refuse to ask the patient what she wants in this matter. You must come yourself. If you do not leave me free to prescribe whatever diet I choose, I will not take responsibility for your wife’s life.’

I took the train for Durban the same day, and met the doctor who quietly broke this news to me: ‘I had already given Mrs. Gandhi beef tea when I telephoned to you.’

I took the train to Durban that same day and met the doctor. He quietly told me: ‘I had already given Mrs. Gandhi beef tea when I phoned you.’

‘Now, doctor, I call this a fraud,’ said I.

‘Now, doctor, I call this fraud,’ I said.

‘No question of fraud in prescribing medicine or diet for a patient. In fact we doctors consider it a virtue to deceive patients or their relatives, if thereby we can save our patients,’ said the doctor with determination.

‘There is no question of fraud when prescribing medicine or a diet for a patient. In fact, we doctors consider it a virtue to deceive patients or their relatives if doing so can save our patients,’ the doctor said firmly.

I was deeply pained, but kept cool. The doctor was a good man and a personal friend. He and his wife had laid me under a debt of gratitude, but I was not prepared to put up with his medical morals.

I was deeply hurt, but I stayed calm. The doctor was a good man and a personal friend. I owed him and his wife a great deal, but I was not willing to accept his medical ethics.

‘Doctor, tell me what you propose to do now. I would never allow my wife to be given meat or beef, even if it meant her death, unless of course she desired to take it.’

‘Doctor, tell me what you plan to do now. I would never allow my wife to be given meat or beef, even if she died as a result. Of course, I would allow it if she wanted it.’

‘You are welcome to your philosophy. I tell you that so long as you keep your wife under my treatment, I must have the option to give her anything I wish. If you don’t like this, I must regretfully ask you to remove her. I can’t see her die under my roof.’

‘You are welcome to your philosophy. But as long as your wife is under my care, I must be free to give her anything I want. If you don’t like that, I’m sorry, but I must ask you to take her away. I can’t watch her die under my roof.’

‘Do you mean to say that I must remove her at once?’

‘Do you mean I have to remove her right away?’

‘Whenever did I ask you to remove her? I only want to be left entirely free. If you do so, my wife and I will do all that is possible for her, and you may go back without the least anxiety on her score. But if you will not understand this simple thing, you will compel me to ask you to remove your wife from my place.’

‘When did I ever ask you to take her away? I only want to be left completely free. If you leave me free, my wife and I will do all we can for her. You can go back without any worry about her. But if you will not understand this simple thing, you will force me to ask you to take your wife away from my place.’

I think one of my sons was with me. He entirely agreed with me, and said his mother should not be given beef tea. I next spoke to Kasturbai herself. She was really too weak to be consulted in this matter. But I thought it my painful duty to do so. I told her what had passed between the doctor and myself. She gave a resolute reply: ‘I will not take beef tea. It is a rare thing in this world to be born as a human being, and I would far rather die in your arms than pollute my body with such abominations.’

I think one of my sons was with me. He completely agreed with me and said his mother should not be given beef tea. Next, I spoke to Kasturbai herself. She was really too weak to be asked about the matter. But I felt it was my painful duty to ask her. I told her what the doctor and I had discussed. She answered firmly: ‘I will not take beef tea. It is rare in this world to be born a human being. I would much rather die in your arms than pollute my body with such abominations.’

I pleaded with her. I told her that she was not bound to follow me. I cited to her the instances of Hindu friends and acquaintances who had no scruples about taking meat or wine as medicine. But she was adamant. ‘No,’ said she, ‘pray remove me at once.’

I pleaded with her. I told her she did not have to follow my example. I mentioned Hindu friends and acquaintances who had no objections to taking meat or wine as medicine. But she would not change her mind. ‘No,’ she said, ‘please take me away at once.’

I was delighted. Not without some agitation, I decided to take her away. I informed the doctor of her resolve. He exclaimed in a rage: ‘What a callous man you are! You should have been ashamed to broach the matter to her in her present condition. I tell you your wife is not in a fit state to be removed. She cannot stand the least little hustling. I shouldn’t be surprised if she were to die on the way. But if you must persist, you are free to do so. If you will not give her beef tea, I will not take the risk of keeping her under my roof even for a single day.’

I was delighted. Though I was somewhat anxious, I decided to take her away. I told the doctor of her decision. He exclaimed angrily: ‘What a heartless man you are! You should be ashamed to raise the subject with her in her present condition. I tell you, your wife is not well enough to be moved. She cannot stand even the slightest jostling. I would not be surprised if she died on the way. But if you insist, you are free to take her. If you will not give her beef tea, I will not risk keeping her under my roof for even one day.’

So we decided to leave the place at once. It was drizzling and the station was some distance. We had to take the train from Durban for Phœnix, whence our Settlement was reached by a road of two miles and a half. I was undoubtedly taking a very great risk, but I trusted in God, and proceeded with my task. I sent a messenger to Phœnix in advance, with a message to West to receive us at the station with a hammock, a bottle of hot milk and one of hot water, and six men to carry Kasturbai in the hammock. I got a rickshaw to enable me to take her by the next available train, put her into it in that dangerous condition, and marched away.

So we decided to leave at once. It was drizzling, and the station was some distance away. We had to take the train from Durban to Phœnix. From there, a road led two and a half miles to our Settlement. I was certainly taking a very great risk, but I trusted in God and carried on. I sent a messenger ahead to Phœnix with a message for West. I asked him to meet us at the station with a hammock, a bottle of hot milk, and one of hot water. I also asked him to bring six men to carry Kasturbai in the hammock. I got a rickshaw so I could take her on the next available train. I put her into it in that dangerous condition and marched off.

Kasturbai needed no cheering up. On the contrary, she comforted me, saying: ‘Nothing will happen to me. Don’t worry.’

Kasturbai didn’t need cheering up. Instead, she comforted me, saying: ‘Nothing will happen to me. Don’t worry.’

She was mere skin and bone, having had no nourishment for days. The station platform was very large, and as the rickshaw could not be taken inside, one had to walk some distance before one could reach the train. So I carried her in my arms and put her into the compartment. From Phœnix we carried her in the hammock, and there she slowly picked up strength under hydropathic treatment.

She was skin and bones, having had no food for days. The station platform was very large, and the rickshaw could not be taken inside. So we had to walk some distance to reach the train. I carried her in my arms and put her into the train compartment. From Phœnix, we carried her in the hammock. There, she slowly regained strength with water therapy.

In two or three days of our arrival at Phœnix a Swami came to our place. He had heard of the resolute way in which we had rejected the doctor’s advice, and he had, out of sympathy, come to plead with us. My second and third sons Manilal and Ramdas were, so far as I can recollect, present when the Swami came. He held forth on the religious harmlessness of taking meat, citing authorities from Manu. I did not like his carrying on this disputation in the presence of my wife, but I suffered him to do so out of courtesy. I knew the verses from the Manusmriti, I did not need them for my conviction. I knew also that there was a school which regarded these verses as interpolations, but even if they were not, I held my views on vegetarianism independently of religious texts, and Kasturbai’s faith was unshakeable. To her the scriptural texts were a sealed book, but the traditional religion of her forefathers was enough for her. The children swore by their father’s creed and so they made light of the Swami’s discourse. But Kasturbai put an end to the dialogue at once. ‘Swamiji,’ she said, ‘whatever you may say, I do not want to recover by means of beef tea. Pray don’t worry me any more. You may discuss the thing with my husband and children if you like. But my mind has been made up.’

Two or three days after we arrived at Phœnix, a Swami came to see us. He had heard how firmly we had rejected the doctor’s advice. He had come, out of sympathy, to plead with us. As far as I can remember, my second and third sons, Manilal and Ramdas, were present when he came. He spoke at length about how eating meat was religiously harmless, citing passages from Manu. I disliked his arguing about this in my wife’s presence, but I let him continue out of courtesy. I knew the verses from the Manusmriti, but I did not need them to support my conviction. I also knew that one school of thought considered the verses later additions. But even if they were not, my views on vegetarianism did not depend on religious texts. And Kasturbai’s faith was unshakeable. She knew nothing of the scriptures, but the traditional religion of her forefathers was enough for her. The children stood by their father’s beliefs, so they made light of the Swami’s talk. But Kasturbai put an end to the conversation at once. ‘Swamiji,’ she said, ‘whatever you may say, I do not want to recover by taking beef tea. Please don’t trouble me any more. You may discuss it with my husband and children if you like. But my mind is made up.’