Mahatma Gandhi On Tour

I had only read of Mahatmaji's tours from a distance. My nearest view of him was when I drove him through the streets of Benares or when he honoured my home with a few hours’ stay now and then while passing Benares. But this year, as General Secretary of the United Provinces Provincial Congress Committee; ¹ I had to share the responsibility of fixing up the programme of his tour; and I never came so near to all that his tour means as now. When first I circularised the Districts asking them if they wanted Mahatmaji, and, if so, what were they prepared to pay, the replies were tardy and halting. But once the tour has started I am overwhelmed with letters: everybody now wants him. Tahsils are angry if they are left out. Every village would like a visit and keep Mahatmaji for ever. Numerous individuals are anxious that he should honour them with a visit under some pretence or other. The last few weeks have been spent by many of us in arranging and re-arranging the programme; trying to fix in as many places as possible consistent with Mahatmaji's health and comfort. Money seems to come to Mahatmaji without asking: places like Benares where workers feared they might not be able to scrape together even three thousand and were nervous in consequence, forked out ten thousand without feeling it, before Mahatmaji finally left the district.²

At Benares and from Benares, for a few days, I had the unique honour and privilege of being with Mahatmaji all the time. It may interest readers to go behind doors and see Mahatmaji at all hours of the night and day. His day begins punctually at 4 in the morning, whether traveling in the train or sleeping under a roof. That is the hour of his morning prayers. He and his immediate party, and any others whose spirit should move them that way, sit down in a circle: Mahatmaji himself is wrapped in utter silence. Some members of the party repeat bhajans or cantos from the Bhagavad-Gita. These devotional meetings are invariably held in ‘dim religious light’ almost amounting to darkness: the lamps are lowered or the curtains drawn. After this Mahatmaji plunges in work immediately. A mass of papers, files, etc. loosely tied in a cloth, is always with him –it accompanies him in his car also. He calls this his daftar. About 6-30 in the morning, he takes some goat's milk and grapes or just honey and hot water. He is ready to go to meetings if necessary at 7 or even earlier. If there are none he continues his work. In the present tour there is scarcely a morning when he has not to travel or address meetings, or both. At 10 he takes a warm bath followed by his breakfast which consists of curds of goat s milk, in which he would now and then put soda in order that it may be aerated, grapes, oranges and, sometimes, pulp of steamed apples. He prefers to be left after this till 3 in the afternoon, for rest and his editorial work, correspondence, etc. If he has a heavy programme early in the afternoon, he spins in snatches of time; if very tired he lies down for a few minutes from time to time and gets a little sleep. From 3 to 4 is his regular time for spinning if he is permitted to; if not, he makes up for lost time late at night, for he will not go to bed till he has done the prescribed amount of spinning. About 5 in the evening he takes his dinner, his last meal of the day. This is a repetition of his breakfast, and is taken very slowly, the process sometimes lasting quite 45 minutes. Then follow meetings, talks, etc. He prefers having his evening prayers about 7 and then being left to himself and his daftar. But if necessary he sees friends, talks to workers, grants interviews. He scarcely retires before 10, even when he has been freed from the incubus of crowds early enough. The last thing he does is to write something in a note-book–that is his diary of the day–and then he goes to rest. He prefers sleeping under the skies unless the weather is particularly inclement.

This is the usual routine. But when long tours are on hand and train timings have to be taken into consideration, when as many as three Districts have to be visited in the course of a single day with about half a dozen meetings en route to address, all this is upset and a particularly severe upsettal took place on his 60th birthday, a description of which would be interesting. He left Fyzabad by train at 2 in the morning of October 2, which was his birthday, and I received him at Jaunpur at 5. At 6 he took his milk and grapes. At 7 there was a women's meeting followed by a public meeting and civic addresses. A little after 8 we started for Benares by car. I had promised a three-minute halt on the way before leaving the Jaunpur District, to enable people there to present a purse. When the car was pulled up there, Mahatmaji was fast asleep in his seat with spectacles on nose. A huge concourse had gathered; and such concourses are always noisy. I felt it would be cruel to wake him up. So I filed the assembled persons past the car on both sides. They went jostling one another, shouting and complaining. But despite the confusion he continued to sleep. Then we proceeded and came to Baragaon in Benares where the Tahsil held its public meeting, the District Board presented its address, and purses were given and collections made. By ten we started again for Benares where he was to rest for the day. But there were birthday demonstrations waiting for him and men and telegrams poured in offering greetings. He chatted with a vaidya on health and struggled against the enthusiastic secretary of an art and curio collection against giving the impression of his right hand, joking that such things were only wanted by the police from criminals, and laughingly enquiring why he did not want the impression of his nose instead of his hand! His charka kept whirring all the time. We left about three for Ghazipur. But there was another Tahsil meeting before Benares would see the last of him. Elaborate arrangements were made so that he could cross and recross the Ganga in comfort for this meeting. This over, he had again to cross the Gomti to get into the Ghazipur District. As he sat on the boat on the Gomti he uttered, in almost a piteous voice, "Shri Rama". He was visibly tired. "Shri Rama" is a favourite expression of his. Boarding motors on the other side, we started for Ghazipur. Darkness was gathering fast; and he takes no meals after sunset. So we pulled up the car on the way and "Ba" (Mrs. Gandhi) served out of his box–both Ba and the box are always with him–his frugal evening meal. Then we got on to Saiyadpur (in the Ghazipur District) for a meeting and proceeded to Ghazipur. The stupid chauffeur had not taken sufficient petrol and when we were about ten miles from Ghazipur, the motor began giving trouble. We came to a stop when we were still three miles away. The other cars had Preceded us to keep the meeting at Ghazipur going–only one was left behind at Saiyadpur. Mahatmaji offered to walk the distance; but an ekka happened to pass and he boarded it and proceeded to the meeting. It was not till late at night that the day's travail was over and he was allowed to rest. When I expressed my deep regret to him at the terrible strain of the day, he replied with a smile: "Was it not my birthday? One must be prepared for these things on one's birthday." And this was by nomeans a very exceptional day, for he lives like that from day to day. People around him get exhausted and many drop off; but he continues his marvelous march through life undaunted. His fund of humour is inexhaustible and he has always a laugh at his command. His capacity for recuperation is marvelous. A five-minute nap in the most impossible conditions, and after the utmost fatigue, makes him as fresh as a normal man would scarcely be after as many hours of sleep in a comfortable bed after a normal day.

He is a man of very few words. In this tour he almost always delivers a set speech. "Brothers and sisters," he begins, "I thank you for the purse of –and here he mentions the exact figure– that you have given to the khadi fund and for all the affection you have showered upon me." Then he repeats the five injunctions of the Congress in a deliberate voice. "The first is: Boycott foreign cloth and use khadi. The second is: Give up all intoxicating drinks and drugs; The third is: All Hindus, Muslims, Sikhs, Parsis, Christians, all who are Indians should unite. The fourth is: Those of us who are Hindus should abolish untouchability which is a blot on Hinduism. The fifth is: All should deposit four annas in the Congress office and become Congress members and follow all the dictates of the Congress. Thus we shall be ready for the struggle of 1930. May God bless you." After this he would auction any silver dishes, fancy garlands and other things given to him, explaining that as a self-constituted representative of daridra-narayana he can have no costly possessions for his own use. He would send out volunteers to collect moneys, saying that all who may not have already contributed to the purse may do so now; and adding that every rupee to the khadi fund keeps 16 poor women in work; for a day. If the volunteers are late in returning, he would spin on his takli, once described by Mrs. Besant as ‘a twirligig less than a foot long.’

While spinning in the privacy –if he has any–of his rooms you can get him to talk on lighter topics. When I expressed my surprise at his capacity to go to sleep on a car, he replied –while the wheel whirred: "Why, a car is a comfortable thing. I have gone to sleep on a camel"; and then he told you how he did it on a continuous 24 hours’ ride on a camel in pursuit of a scholarship to Porbandar; and he passed on to another camel ride in Sindh when, on the insistence of some friend, desiring to make him a Muslim, he traveled in the interior of Sindh on a camel, to visit a pir said to perform miracles. And he added: "Miracles had never attracted me." When some one would laughingly complain about his strict insistence on accounts, he would tell him how careful he had been about accounts since early childhood; how he would take vouchers even for soda water bottles when acting as the secretary of a deputation; and, above all, he would talk of the solitary penny he has never been able to account for in his life and which he still remembers. He had purchased fruits at Tottenham Court Road in London for twopence; but perhaps paid three pence by mistake. When the balance would not tally at home, he rushed to the fruit-seller for the overpaid penny, but never got it . I said to him: "You would be an ideal candidate for a Council election in the matter of returning election expences. But if you did that, you would be debarred." "I know, I know," he replied, "and among other reasons why I am against these elections, is this also. We have not sufficient numbers of really good people to go to these Councils." Now he keeps no money himself; but his assistants are always hard put to accounting for every pie received. It is no joke keeping these accounts, as sums (particularly small coin) come pouring in constantly and moneys have to be counted up in moving trains and cars.

The devotion that he inspires in the multitude is something stupendous. In moving cars people will attempt to touch him, and the touching very often degenerates into regular hitting; and he has to be constantly protected from the attention of his devotees. I have heard that in Bihar when people were not able to get to him through the cordon of volunteers, they touched his feet with the ends of their long sticks, thus considerably hurting him. I have myself seen him painfully hurt by large marigold flowers and garlands thrown at him by surrounding crowds. If volunteers are not very often harsh and if his faithful companion, Prof. J. B. Kripalani, did not indulge so often in his simulated anger, and now and then, even his very real blows, the crowds would make a pulp of Mahatmaji’s frail body in no time, out of sheer exuberance of affection. In the Gorakhpur District the crowds were immense, mounting up to a hundred-thousand or more at Padrauna. Mahatmaji himself described the meeting there as the largest he has seen in his life, full of immense gatherings as his life has been. All stations in the Gorakhpur District were invariably overcrowded; and at one place he addressed the meeting near a railway-station from the top of a motor lorry, which he mounted with remarkable celerity and dexterity; and then stooped down to pick up pice that people were offering him. Our crowds are always good humored though always indisciplined. They would sit hours in rain and sun just to have his darshan: and in the midst of all this confusion Mahatmaji would take his meals and spin and tackle with his daftar as if nothing was happening. And then late at night, after a strenuous day, he would sit down–as he did at Gorakhpur–to write out the arbitrators award in a labour dispute. His mind is always fresh and clear and ready to attack any problem or plunge in any work at any time of the day or night.

And he can also be angry; but his anger is expressed in language so unutterably loving that there is no reaction of anger in the hearer's mind; only a feeling of shame and sorrow and determination to do better is left behind. He has no patience with avoidable expenses on costly decorations, receptions, rich food, etc.; with mismanagement that, with a little forethought, could have been avoided; with unnecessary risks to life and limb taken in erecting weak platforms that crash down. And if any such thing happens, the workers have to listen to his reproaches and dare not say anything in extenuation of what had happened. I would gladly face a really angry man and have my say at him also: but such moments with Mahatmaji, I should always avoid.

I have written above about his impatience with avoidable expenses. In fact he is embarrassingly economical. I believe a rich man can be safely defined as one who can afford to waste with impunity and a poor man as one who cannot. As Mahatmaji lives the life of a poor man deliberately, he simply would not waste anything. He preserves all pins, and half-sheets of blank papers from letters for use, and writes on the s ³ of papers written or printed on the other side. I witnessed a scene worth recording. His handkerchief had gone astray. He started furiously searching for it all over the place. We all joined in the hunt. He would insist on having that and would not let us bring another, though he was in a hurry to go to a meeting. Well, at last he went without it, and then discovered it tucked to his shoulder–for he has no pockets–when he retired to bed at night, as he put aside the piece of cloth that lies round his shoulders fastened by safety pins! He would waste nothing. The world, of course, knows that he travels third class; and though railway officials invariably try to provide comfortable accommodation for him, this is not always possible. Very often he may be found cheerfully seated in the most crowded compartments.

Do any of my readers feel that it would be a proud privilege and a source of constant pleasure to serve Mahatmaji? Do anyone of them think of the lines of Mira where she pants in language of ecstatic beauty, to be taken into Krishna's service? Well, my advice is: give up. It is no joke to serve him; and I am sure it was no joke to serve Krishna or any extraordinary human being for that matter. Gandhiji's secretaries, Pyarelal and Kusumbehen are always at it; and the work never ends. Pyarelal often works till late at night and sleeps wherever he can bundle himself up; and Kusumbehen has always instructions to take. Mirabehen (Miss Slade) and Ba (Mrs. Gandhi) are hard put to taking care of his body; Mirabehen looks after his bath, clothes, etc., and Mrs. Gandhi after his food. Then there is Prof. Kripalani with his cash and his constant anxiety to protect him from devoted crowds. It is certainly a privilege to serve him but his service is no bed of roses, as it may appear to those who have never seen anything of it. Then, do any of my readers–human nature being what it is–say to themselves: ‘I wish I were Mahatmaji, with all his glory and greatness.’ Give up again. It is better as you are. For verily Mahatmaji's life is not worth living, judging from the standpoint of ordinary human needs and desires. Nature can verily stand up and say with pride pointing to him: "Here is a man" but ordinary men will scarcely like to go through a week of what he goes through week after week, month after month, and year after year. He has promised to give himself a year's rest and see the sights of India when Swaraj is gained. May that soon happen! Today he practically declines seeing any sight of architectural or other interest, even if put in his way. Jawaharlal was right when he said: "Mahatma Gandhi is our greatest propaganda"; for who else can inspire such devotion and who can be so much respected, loved, and, may I add, feared as he is; and who else could have raised the status; of our country and our countrymen, in our present submerged condition, at home and abroad as he has done. Rajendra Prasad was right when he said that no one in all human history has attracted in his own life-time such immense crowds of devotees, on such an extensive surface of the globe, as Mahatmaji has done. I must confess to a feeling of sorrow as I see these scores of thousands of my countrymen and country-women assembling for Mahatmaji, for I know it is only for his darshan and not to do his bidding. Their attitude here is what it is when they gather for a bath on the occasion of solar or lunar eclipse or jostle one another in their mad rush to get to the God in the temple on a holy day. They feel their duty done when they have had the darshan: they do not realise that, however purifying the sight of such a holy saint as Mahatmaji may be, What he himself wants is that his words should be followed in action so that the goal of India's Swaraj might soon be reached. This they all forget even when they offer him their hard-earned money without stint. But though they might forget this, and though they might not always be able to carry out his single teachings in detail in their daily life, and though they might think that a darshan of him is enough –"yet it is unmistakably clear that behind their craving for the darshan is the deep-seated feeling that handful of bone and flesh is inspired by a Beneficent Power which has decided that India shall no longer grovel in the dust; and the figure has become a matter of religion to them, and they will, in emergencies, probably be willing to risk all for his sake, unrecking of consequences as they have always done in the past when they felt their religion was involved. And, therefore, they cry with the ring of true sincerity: Mahatma Gandhi Ki Jai. And–all unworthy as I am–I too cry with the rest of my countrymen what is undoubtedly going to be one of the national cries of the land for ever:

Mahatma Gandhi Ki Jai

1 Sit. Sri Prakasa is now General Secretary of the All India Congress Committee. –Editor, Triveni.

2 I am writing this while the tour is still in progress (Oct. 11th, 1929.)

3 We know of another distinguished member of the Working Committee of the Congress, who writes not only on the s of printed pages but also right across them! And we are credibly informed that he developed this habit long before he became acquainted with Gandhiji.

-Editor, Triveni.