Was It a Threat?

From Poona I went to Rajkot and Porbandar, where I had to meet my brother’s widow and other relatives.

From Poona, I went to Rajkot and Porbandar, where I had to meet my brother’s widow and other relatives.

During the Satyagraha in South Africa I had altered my style of dress so as to make it more in keeping with that of the indentured labourers, and in England also I had adhered to the same style for indoor use. For landing in Bombay I had a Kathiawadi suit of clothes consisting of a shirt, a dhoti, a cloak and a white scarf, all made of Indian mill cloth. But as I was to travel third from Bombay, I regarded the scarf and the cloak as too much of an incumbrance, so I shed them, and invested in an eight to ten annas Kashmiri cap. One dressed in that fashion was sure to pass muster as a poor man.

During the Satyagraha in South Africa, I changed my clothes to dress more like the indentured labourers. In England, I continued to dress that way indoors. For my arrival in Bombay, I had a Kathiawadi outfit made entirely of Indian mill cloth. It consisted of a shirt, a dhoti, a cloak and a white scarf. But because I planned to travel third class from Bombay, I thought the scarf and cloak would be too cumbersome. So I took them off and bought a Kashmiri cap for eight to ten annas. Anyone dressed that way was sure to pass for a poor man.

On account of the plague prevailing at that time, third class passengers were being medically inspected at Viramgam or Wadhwan—I forget which. I had a slight fever. The inspector on finding that I had a temperature asked me to report myself to the Medical Officer at Rajkot and noted down my name.

Because the plague was spreading at the time, third-class passengers were being medically examined at Viramgam or Wadhwan. I forget which. I had a slight fever. When the inspector found that I had a fever, he noted down my name and told me to report to the Medical Officer at Rajkot.

Some one had perhaps sent the information that I was passing through Wadhwan, for the tailor Motilal, a noted public worker of the place, met me at the station. He told me about the Viramgam customs, and the hardships railway passengers had to suffer on account of it. I had little inclination to talk because of my fever, and so tried to finish with a brief reply which took the form of a question:

Perhaps someone had sent word that I was passing through Wadhwan. Motilal, a tailor and well-known public worker there, met me at the station. He told me about the Viramgam customs checks and the hardships they caused railway passengers. Because I had a fever, I did not feel much like talking. So I tried to give a brief reply in the form of a question:

‘Are you prepared to go to jail?’

‘Are you ready to go to jail?’

I had taken Motilal to be one of those impetuous youths who do not think before speaking. But not so Motilal. He replied with firm deliberation:

I had thought Motilal was one of those impulsive young men who speak without thinking. But Motilal was not like that. He replied firmly and thoughtfully:

‘We will certainly go to jail, provided you lead us. As Kathiawadis, we have the first right on you. Of course we do not mean to detain you now, but you must promise to halt here on your return. You will be delighted to see the work and the spirit of our youths, and you may trust us to respond as soon as you summon us.’

‘We will certainly go to jail if you lead us. As Kathiawadis, we have the first claim on you. Of course, we do not mean to keep you here now. But you must promise to stop here on your return. You will be delighted to see the work and spirit of our young people. And you can trust us to respond as soon as you call on us.’

Motilal captivated me. His comrade eulogising him said:

Motilal captivated me. His comrade praised him, saying:

‘Our friend is but a tailor. But he is such a master of his profession that he easily earns Rs. 15 a month—which is just what he needs—working an hour a day, and gives the rest of his time to public work. He leads us all, putting our education to shame.’

‘Our friend is only a tailor. But he is so skilled that he easily earns Rs. 15 a month by working one hour a day. That is just what he needs. He spends the rest of his time on public work. He leads us all, putting our education to shame.’

Later I came in close contact with Motilal and I saw that there was no exaggeration in the eulogy. He made a point of spending some days in the then newly started Ashram every month to teach the children tailoring and to do some of the tailoring of the Ashram himself. He would talk to me every day of Viramgam, and the hardships of the passengers which had become absolutely unbearable for him. He was cut off in the prime of youth by a sudden illness, and public life at Wadhwan suffered without him.

Later I came to know Motilal well, and I saw that the praise of him was not exaggerated. Every month, he made a point of spending a few days at the newly established Ashram. He taught the children tailoring and did some of the Ashram’s tailoring himself. Every day, he spoke to me about Viramgam and the hardships faced by passengers. These hardships had become absolutely unbearable for him. He died of a sudden illness in the prime of his youth, and public life in Wadhwan suffered without him.

On reaching Rajkot, I reported myself to the Medical Officer the next morning. I was not unknown there. The doctor felt ashamed and was angry with the inspector. This was unnecessary, for the inspector had only done his duty. He did not know me, and even if he had known me, he should not have done otherwise. The Medical Officer would not let me go to him again and insisted on sending an inspector to me instead.

After reaching Rajkot, I went to see the Medical Officer the next morning. I was known there. The doctor felt ashamed and was angry with the inspector. His anger was unnecessary, because the inspector had only done his duty. The inspector did not know me. Even if he had known me, he should have acted no differently. The Medical Officer would not let me come to him again. Instead, he insisted on sending an inspector to me.

Inspection of third class passengers for sanitary reasons is essential on such occasions. If big men choose to travel third, whatever their position in life, they must voluntarily submit themselves to all the regulations that the poor are subject to, and the officials ought to be impartial. My experience is that the officials, instead of looking upon third class passengers as fellowmen, regard them as so many sheep. They talk to them contemptuously, and brook no reply or argument. The third class passenger has to obey the official as though he were his servant, and the latter may with impunity belabour and blackmail him, and book him his ticket only after putting him to the greatest possible inconvenience, including often missing the train. All this I have seen with my own eyes. No reform is possible unless some of the educated and the rich voluntarily accept the status of the poor, travel third, refuse to enjoy the amenities denied to the poor, and instead of taking avoidable hardships, discourtesies and injustice as a matter of course, fight for their removal.

Inspecting third-class passengers for sanitary reasons is essential on such occasions. If important people choose to travel third class, whatever their position in life, they must willingly follow all the rules imposed on the poor. Officials should also be impartial. In my experience, officials treat third-class passengers like sheep rather than fellow human beings. They speak to passengers with contempt and tolerate no reply or argument. A third-class passenger must obey an official as if he were the official’s servant. The official may beat and blackmail him without consequence. The official may also make it as difficult as possible for him to get a ticket, often causing him to miss the train. I have seen all this with my own eyes. No reform is possible unless some educated and wealthy people willingly accept the status of the poor and travel third class. They must refuse the comforts denied to the poor. And instead of accepting avoidable hardships, rudeness, and injustice as normal, they must fight to end them.

Wherever I went in Kathiawad I heard complaints about the Viramgam customs hardships. I therefore decided immediately to make use of Lord Willingdon’s offer. I collected and read all the literature available on the subject, convinced myself that the complaints were well-founded, and opened correspondence with the Bombay Government. I called on the Private Secretary to Lord Willingdon and waited on His Excellency also. The latter expressed his sympathy but shifted the blame on Delhi. ‘If it had been in our hands we should have removed the cordon long ago. You should approach the Government of India,’ said the Secretary.

Wherever I went in Kathiawad, I heard complaints about the hardships caused by customs at Viramgam. So I decided to take up Lord Willingdon’s offer immediately. I collected and read all the available literature on the subject. I became convinced that the complaints were justified and began corresponding with the Bombay Government. I visited Lord Willingdon’s Private Secretary and also met with Lord Willingdon himself. Lord Willingdon expressed sympathy but placed the blame on Delhi. ‘If it had been up to us, we would have removed the cordon long ago. You should approach the Government of India,’ said the Secretary.

I communicated with the Government of India, but got no reply beyond an acknowledgment. It was only when I had an occasion to meet Lord Chelmsford later that redress could be had. When I placed the facts before him, he expressed his astonishment. He had known nothing of the matter. He gave me a patient hearing, telephoned that very moment for papers about Viramgam, and promised to remove the cordon if the authorities had no explanation or defence to offer. Within a few days of this interview I read in the papers that the Viramgam customs cordon had been removed.

I wrote to the Government of India, but received only an acknowledgment. The matter was resolved only when I had a chance to meet Lord Chelmsford later. When I explained the facts to him, he was astonished. He had known nothing about the matter. He listened to me patiently and immediately telephoned for the papers about Viramgam. He promised to remove the cordon if the authorities had no explanation or defense to offer. Within a few days of our meeting, I read in the newspapers that the Viramgam customs cordon had been removed.

I regarded this event as the advent of Satyagraha in India. For during my interview with the Bombay Government the Secretary had expressed his disapproval of a reference to Satyagraha in a speech which I delivered in Bagasra (in Kathiawad) and of which he had a report.

I saw this event as the beginning of Satyagraha in India. During my meeting with the Bombay Government, the Secretary had expressed disapproval of a reference to Satyagraha. I had made the reference in a speech in Bagasra (in Kathiawad), and he had a report of the speech.

‘Is not this a threat?’ he had asked. ‘And do you think a powerful Government will yield to threats?’

‘Isn't this a threat?’ he had asked. ‘And do you think a powerful government will give in to threats?’

‘This was no threat,’ I had replied. ‘It was educating the people. It is my duty to place before the people all the legitimate remedies for grievances. A nation that wants to come into its own ought to know all the ways and means to freedom. Usually they include violence as the last remedy. Satyagraha, on the other hand, is an absolutely non-violent weapon. I regard it as my duty to explain its practice and its limitations. I have no doubt that the British Government is a powerful Government, but I have no doubt also that Satyagraha is a sovereign remedy.’

‘This was no threat,’ I had replied. ‘It was a way of educating the people. It is my duty to tell people about all the legitimate ways to address their grievances. A nation that wants to take its rightful place should know all the ways and means to freedom. Usually, these include violence as a last resort. Satyagraha, on the other hand, is an entirely nonviolent weapon. I consider it my duty to explain how to practice Satyagraha and what its limitations are. I have no doubt that the British Government is powerful, but I also have no doubt that Satyagraha is a supreme remedy.’

The clever Secretary nodded his head and sceptically said: ‘We shall see.’

The clever Secretary nodded and said skeptically, ‘We’ll see.’