Ending Indentured Emigration

We shall, for a moment, take leave of the Ashram, which, in the very beginning, had to weather internal and external storms, and briefly advert to a matter that engaged my attention.

We will leave the Ashram for a moment. From the very beginning, it faced troubles both within and outside. I will briefly turn to a matter that occupied my attention.

Indentured labourers were those who had emigrated from India to labour under an indenture for five or less years. Under the Smuts-Gandhi Settlement of 1914, the £3 tax in respect of the indentured emigrants to Natal had been abolished, but the general emigration from India still needed treatment.

Indentured labourers were people who had left India to work under a contract for five years or less. The Smuts-Gandhi Settlement of 1914 had abolished the £3 tax on indentured emigrants to Natal. But the broader issue of emigration from India still needed to be addressed.

In March 1916, Pandit Madan Mohan Malaviyaji moved a resolution in the Imperial Legislative Council for the abolition of the indenture system. In accepting the motion Lord Hardinge announced that he had ‘obtained from His Majesty’s Government the promise of the abolition in due course’ of the system. I felt, however, that India could not be satisfied with so very vague an assurance, but ought to agitate for immediate abolition. India had tolerated the system through sheer negligence, and I believed the time had come when people could successfully agitate for this redress. I met some of the leaders, wrote in the press, and saw that public opinion was solidly in favour of immediate abolition. Might this be a fit subject for Satyagraha? I had no doubt that it was, but I did not know the modus operandi.

In March 1916, Pandit Madan Mohan Malaviyaji proposed a resolution in the Imperial Legislative Council to abolish the indenture system. In accepting the motion, Lord Hardinge announced that he had ‘obtained from His Majesty’s Government the promise of the abolition in due course’ of the system. However, I felt that India could not be satisfied with such a vague promise. Instead, India should campaign for immediate abolition. India had tolerated the system through sheer neglect. I believed the time had come when people could successfully campaign to end it. I met some of the leaders and wrote in the press. I saw that public opinion strongly favored immediate abolition. Might this be a suitable cause for Satyagraha? I had no doubt that it was, but I did not know the method to use.

In the meantime the Viceroy had made no secret of the meaning of ‘the eventual abolition’ which, as he said, was abolition ‘within such reasonable time as will allow of alternative arrangements being introduced.’

Meanwhile, the Viceroy had been clear about what he meant by ‘eventual abolition’. He said it meant abolition ‘within a reasonable time to allow for alternative arrangements to be introduced.’

So in February 1917, Pandit Malaviyaji asked for leave to introduce a bill for the immediate abolition of the system. Lord Chelmsford refused permission. It was time for me to tour the country for an all-India agitation.

So in February 1917, Pandit Malaviyaji asked for permission to introduce a bill to abolish the system immediately. Lord Chelmsford refused. It was time for me to tour the country and campaign across all of India.

Before I started the agitation I thought it proper to wait upon the Viceroy. So I applied for an interview. He immediately granted it. Mr. Maffey, now Sir John Maffey, was his private secretary. I came in close contact with him. I had a satisfactory talk with Lord Chelmsford, who without being definite promised to be helpful.

Before I started the agitation, I thought it right to meet with the Viceroy. So I requested an interview, and he granted it immediately. His private secretary was Mr. Maffey, now Sir John Maffey. I came into close contact with him. I had a satisfactory talk with Lord Chelmsford, who promised to help but made no specific commitments.

I began my tour from Bombay. Mr. Jehangir Petit undertook to convene the meeting under the auspices of the Imperial Citizenship Association. The Executive Committee of the Association met first for framing the resolutions to be moved at the meeting. Dr. Stanley Reed, Sr. (now Sir) Lallubhai Samaldas, Sr. Natarajan and Mr. Petit were present at the Committee meeting. The discussion centred round the fixing of the period within which the Government was to be asked to abolish the system. There were three proposals, viz., for abolition ‘as soon as possible,’ abolition ‘by the 31st July,’ and ‘immediate abolition.’ I was for a definite date, as we could then decide what to do if the Government failed to accede to our request within the time limit. Sr. Lallubhai was for ‘immediate’ abolition. He said ‘immediate’ indicated a shorter period than the 31st July. I explained that the people would not understand the word ‘immediate.’ If we wanted to get them to do something, they must have a more definite word. Every one would interpret ‘immediate’ in his own way,—Government one way, the people another way. There was no question of misunderstanding ‘the 31st of July,’ and if nothing was done by that date we could proceed further. Dr. Reed saw the force of the argument, and ultimately Sr. Lallubhai also agreed. We adopted the 31st July as the latest date by which the abolition should be announced, a resolution to that effect was passed at the public meeting, and meetings throughout India resolved accordingly.

I began my tour in Bombay. Mr. Jehangir Petit agreed to arrange the meeting under the auspices of the Imperial Citizenship Association. The Association’s Executive Committee first met to prepare the resolutions to be proposed at the meeting. Dr. Stanley Reed, Sr. (now Sir) Lallubhai Samaldas, Sr. Natarajan and Mr. Petit attended the committee meeting. The discussion focused on the deadline we should ask the Government to meet in abolishing the system. There were three proposals, namely, abolition ‘as soon as possible,’ abolition ‘by the 31st July,’ and ‘immediate abolition.’ I favored a definite date. If the Government failed to grant our request by then, we could decide what to do next. Sr. Lallubhai favored ‘immediate’ abolition. He said ‘immediate’ meant a shorter period than the time until the 31st July. I explained that the people would not understand the word ‘immediate.’ If we wanted them to do something, we had to give them a more definite term. Everyone would interpret ‘immediate’ in their own way. The Government would interpret it one way, the people another. There could be no misunderstanding about ‘the 31st of July.’ If nothing was done by that date, we could take further action. Dr. Reed saw the force of the argument, and Sr. Lallubhai eventually agreed too. We adopted the 31st July as the latest date by which abolition should be announced. A resolution to that effect passed at the public meeting, and meetings throughout India passed similar resolutions.

Mrs. Jaiji Petit put all her energies into the organisation of a ladies’ deputation to the Viceroy. Amongst the ladies from Bombay who formed the deputation I remember the names of Lady Tata and the late Dilshad Begam. The deputation had a great effect. The Viceroy gave an encouraging reply.

Mrs. Jaiji Petit devoted all her energy to organizing a group of women to meet with the Viceroy. Among the women from Bombay in the group, I remember Lady Tata and the late Dilshad Begam. The group’s visit had a great effect. The Viceroy gave an encouraging reply.

I visited Karachi, Calcutta and various other places. There were fine meetings everywhere, and there was unbounded enthusiasm. I had not expected anything like it when the agitation was launched.

I visited Karachi, Calcutta, and several other places. Everywhere, the meetings were excellent, and the enthusiasm was boundless. When the campaign began, I had not expected anything like this.

In those days I used to travel alone, and had therefore wonderful experiences. The C. I. D. men were always after me. But as I had nothing to conceal they did not molest me, nor did I cause them any trouble. Fortunately I had not then received the stamp of Mahatmaship, though the shout of that name was quite common where people knew me.

In those days, I traveled alone, so I had wonderful experiences. The C. I. D. men were always following me. But because I had nothing to hide, they did not bother me, and I gave them no trouble. Fortunately, I had not yet been given the title of Mahatma, though people often shouted that name where they knew me.

On one occasion the detectives disturbed me at several stations, asked for my ticket and took down the number. I, of course, readily replied to all the questions they asked. My fellow passengers had taken me to be a ‘sadhu’ or a ‘fakir.’ When they saw that I was being molested at every station, they were exasperated and swore at the detectives. ‘Why are you worrying the poor sadhu for nothing?’ they protested. ‘Don’t you show these scoundrels your ticket,’ they said, addressing me.

Once, detectives bothered me at several stations. They asked for my ticket and wrote down its number. Of course, I readily answered all their questions. My fellow passengers thought I was a ‘sadhu’ or a ‘fakir.’ When they saw the detectives bothering me at every station, they grew angry and swore at them. ‘Why are you bothering the poor sadhu for no reason?’ they protested. ‘Don’t show these scoundrels your ticket,’ they said to me.

I said to them gently: ‘It is no trouble to show them my ticket. They are doing their duty.’ The passengers were not satisfied, they evinced more and more sympathy, and strongly objected to this sort of ill-treatment of innocent men.

I said to them gently: ‘I don’t mind showing them my ticket. They are doing their duty.’ The passengers were not satisfied. They grew more sympathetic and strongly objected to this kind of mistreatment of innocent men.

But the detectives were nothing. The real hardship was the third class travelling. My bitterest experience was from Lahore to Delhi. I was going to Calcutta from Karachi via Lahore where I had to change trains. It was impossible to find a place in the train. It was full, and those who could get in did so by sheer force, often sneaking through windows if the doors were locked. I had to reach Calcutta on the date fixed for the meeting, and if I missed this train I could not arrive in time. I had almost given up hope of getting in. No one was willing to accept me, when a porter discovering my plight came to me and said, ‘Give me twelve annas and I’ll get you a seat.’ ‘Yes,’ said I, ‘you shall have twelve annas if you do procure me a seat.’ The young man went from carriage to carriage entreating passengers but no one heeded him. As the train was about to start, some passengers said, ‘There is no room here, but you can shove him in if you like. He will have to stand.’ ‘Well?’ asked the young porter. I readily agreed, and he shoved me in bodily through the window. Thus I got in and the porter earned his twelve annas.

But the detectives were nothing. The real hardship was traveling third class. My worst experience was on the journey from Lahore to Delhi. I was traveling from Karachi to Calcutta, changing trains at Lahore. It was impossible to find a place on the train. It was full, and those who got in did so by sheer force. If the doors were locked, they often slipped in through the windows. I had to reach Calcutta by the date set for the meeting. If I missed this train, I could not arrive in time. I had almost given up hope of getting in. No one was willing to let me in. Then a porter noticed my plight and came over to me. ‘Give me twelve annas and I’ll get you a seat,’ he said. ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘you shall have twelve annas if you do get me a seat.’ The young man went from carriage to carriage, begging the passengers, but no one paid him any attention. As the train was about to leave, some passengers said, ‘There is no room here, but you can shove him in if you like. He will have to stand.’ ‘Well?’ asked the young porter. I readily agreed, and he shoved me bodily through the window. That was how I got in, and the porter earned his twelve annas.

The night was a trial. The other passengers were sitting somehow. I stood two hours, holding the chain of the upper bunk. Meanwhile some of the passengers kept worrying me incessantly. ‘Why will you not sit down?’ they asked. I tried to reason with them saying there was no room, but they could not tolerate my standing though they were lying full length on the upper bunks. They did not tire of worrying me, neither did I tire of gently replying to them. This at last mollified them. Some of them asked me my name, and when I gave it they felt ashamed. They apologised, and made room for me. Patience was thus rewarded. I was dead tired, and my head was reeling. God sent help just when it was most needed.

The night was an ordeal. The other passengers had somehow found places to sit. I stood for two hours, holding the chain of the upper bunk. Meanwhile, some passengers kept bothering me. ‘Why won’t you sit down?’ they asked. I tried to explain that there was no room. But they could not bear to see me standing, though they were stretched out on the upper bunks. They never tired of bothering me, and I never tired of replying gently. At last, my replies calmed them. Some asked my name, and when I told them, they felt ashamed. They apologized and made room for me. My patience was rewarded. I was exhausted, and my head was spinning. God sent help just when it was most needed.

In that way I somehow reached Delhi and thence Calcutta. The Maharaja of Cassimbazaar, the president of the Calcutta meeting, was my host. Just as in Karachi, here also there was unbounded enthusiasm. The meeting was attended by several Englishmen.

In that way, I somehow reached Delhi and then Calcutta. The Maharaja of Cassimbazaar, who presided over the Calcutta meeting, was my host. As in Karachi, there was boundless enthusiasm. Several Englishmen attended the meeting.

Before the 31st July the Government announced that indentured emigration from India was stopped.

Before July 31, the government announced that indentured emigration from India had stopped.

It was in 1894 that I drafted the first petition protesting against the system, and I had then hoped, that this ‘semi-slavery,’ as Sir W. W. Hunter used to call the system, would some day be brought to an end.

In 1894, I wrote the first petition protesting against the system. I hoped then that this ‘semi-slavery,’ as Sir W. W. Hunter used to call the system, would someday end.

There were many who aided in the agitation which was started in 1894, but I cannot help saying that potential Satyagraha hastened the end.

Many people helped with the campaign that began in 1894. But I cannot help saying that the possibility of Satyagraha brought it to an end sooner.

For further details of that agitation, and of those who took part in it, I refer the reader to my Satyagraha in South Africa.

For more details about that campaign and the people who took part in it, see my Satyagraha in South Africa.