‘The responsibility of the community is largely en¬ hanced by this settlement. We must register voluntarily in order to show that we do not intend to bring a single Indian into the Transvaal surreptitiously or by fraud. If any one of us fails to register, he will not be punished at present; but that can only mean that the community does not accept the settlement. It is necessary, indeed, that you must here raise your hands as a mark of your agreeing to the settlement, but that is not enough. As soon as the arrangements for fresh registration are completed, every one of us who raises his hand should take out a certificate of registration at once, and just as many of you had volun¬ teered before in order to explain to our compatriots why they should not register, even so should you now come forward to explain to the community why they must regis¬ ter. And it is only when we have thus worthily fulfilled our part that we shall reap the real fruit of our victory.5 As soon as I finished my speech a Pathan friend stood up and greeted me with a volley of questions: ‘Shall we have to give ten finger-prints under the settlement?’
‘Yes and no. My own view of the matter is, that all of us should give digit impressions without the least hesi¬ tation. But those, who have any conscientious objection to giving them or think it to be derogatory to their self-respect, will not be obliged to give those impressions.’
‘What will you do yourself?’
‘I have decided to give ten finger-prints. It may not be for me not to give them myself while advising others to do so.’
‘You were writing a deal about the ten finger-prints. It was you who told us that they were required only from criminals. It was you who said that the struggle centred round the finger-prints. How does all that fit in with your attitude today?’
‘Even now I fully adhere to everything that I have written before about finger-prints. Even now I say that in India finger-prints are required from criminal tribes. I have said before and say even now, that it would be a sin in virtue of the Black Act to give even our signatures not to talk of finger-prints. It is true that I have, — and I believe wisely, — laid great stress on this requisition of finger-prints. It was easier to rouse the community to a sense of the gravity of the situation by a reference to such a new and startling feature of the Act as the finger¬ prints than to minor items in which we had already yield¬ ed submission. And I saw from experience that the commu¬ nity grasped the situation at once. But circumstances have now changed. I say with all the force at my command, that what would have been a crime against the people yesterday is in the altered circumstances of today the hall¬ mark of a gentleman. If you require me to salute you by force and if I submit to you, I will have demeaned myself in the eyes of the public and in your eyes as well as in my own. But if I of my own accord salute you as a brother or fellow-man, that evinces~~my^' HurniTIty^ancl gentlemanliness, and it will be counted to me as righteous¬ ness before the Great White Throne. That is how I advise the community to give the finger-prints.’
‘We have heard that you have betrayed the commu¬ nity and sold it to General Smuts for 15,000 pounds. We will never give the finger-prints nor allow others to do so. I swear with Allah as my witness, that I will kill the man who takes the lead in applying for registration.5 ‘I can understand the feelings of Pathan friends. I am sure that no one else believes me to be capable of sell¬ ing the community. I have already said that finger-prints will not be demanded from those who have sworn not to give them. I will render all possible help to any Pathan or other who wishes to register without giving finger-prints, and I assure him that he will get the certificate all right without violence being done to his conscience. I must con¬ fess, however, that I do not like the threat of death which the friend has held out. I also believe that one may not swear to kill another in the name of the Most High. I there¬ fore take it, that it is only in a momentary fit of passion that this friend has taken the oath. However that may be, whether or not he carries out his threat, as the principal party responsible for this settlement and as a servant of the community, it is my clear duty to take the lead in giving finger-prints, and I pray to God that He graciously permit me so to do. Death is the appointed end of all life. To die by the hand of a brother, rather than by disease or in such other way, cannot be for me a matter for sorrow. And if even in such a case I am free from the thoughts of anger or hatred against my assailant, I know that that will re¬ dound to my eternal welfare, and even the assailant will later on realize my perfect innocence.5 It is perhaps necessary to explain why these questions were asked. Although there were not entertained any feelings of hatred against those who had submitted to the Black Act, their action had been condemned in plain and strong terms on the public platform as well as in Indian Opinion. Life with them therefore was anything but pleasant. They never imagined that the bulk of the community would stand to their guns and make such a display of stren¬ gth as to bring the Government to terms of compromise. But when over 150 Satyagrahis were already in prison and there was a talk about settlement, it was almost too much for the ‘blacklegs’ to bear, and there were among them some who even wished that there should be no settle¬ ment and would try to wreck it if it was effected.
There were only a few Pathans living in the Trans¬ vaal, their total number hardly exceeding fifty. Some of them had come over as soldiers during the Boer War and they had settled in the country like many other Indian as well as European soldiers. Some of them were even my clients, and I was familiar with them otherwise too. The Pathans are an unsophisticated and credulous race. Brave they are as a matter of course. To kill and get killed is an ordinary thing in their eyes, and if they are angry with any one, they will thrash him and sometimes even kill him. And in this matter they are no respecters of per¬ sons. They will behave even to a blood-brother in an identical manner. Even though there were so few of them in the Transvaal, there would be a free fight whenever they quarrelled among themselves, and in such cases I had often to play the part of a peace-maker. A Pathan’s anger becomes particularly uncontrollable when he has to deal with any one whom he takes to be a traitor. When he seeks justice he seeks it only through personal violence. These Pathans fully participated in the Satyagraha struggle; none of them had submitted to the Black Act. It was an easy thing to mislead them. It was quite possible to create a misunderstanding in their minds about the finger-prints and thus to inflame them. This single suggestion, — viz., why should I ask them to give finger-prints if I was not corrupt? — was enough to poison the Pathans’ ears.
Again there was another party in the Transvaal which comprised such Indians as had entered the Trans¬ vaal surreptitiously without a permit or were interested in bringing others there secretly either without a permit at all or with a false permit. This party too knew that the settlement would be detrimental to their interest. None had to produce his permit so long as the struggle lasted, and therefore this group could carry on their trade without fear and easily avoid going to jail during the struggle. The longer the struggle was protracted, the better for them. Thus this clique also could have instigated the Pathans.
The reader will now see how the Pathans got thus excited all of a sudden.
The Pathan’s questions, however, did not have any impression on the meeting. I had asked the meeting to vote on the settlement. The president and other leaders were firm. After this passage-at-arms with the Pathan, the president made a speech explaining the nature of the settlement and dwelling upon the necessity for endorsing it, and then proceeded to ascertain the sense of the meet¬ ing, which unanimously ratified the settlement with the exception of a couple of Pathans present.
I reached home at 2 or 3 a.m. Sleep was out of the question, as I had to rise early and go to the jail to get the others released. I reached the jail at 7 a.m. The Superintendent had received the necessary orders on the ’phone, and he was waiting for me. All the Satyagrahi prisoners were released in the course of one hour. The Chairman and other Indians were present to welcome them, and from jail all of us proceeded to the place of meeting where a second meeting was now held. That day and a couple of subsequent days were passed in feasting and educating the community on the settlement. With the lapse of time, if on the one hand the implications of the settlement became clearer misunderstandings on the other hand also began to thicken. We have already dis¬ cussed the chief causes of misunderstanding. Then again the letter we had written to General Smuts was open to misrepresentation. The difficulty I experienced in meet¬ ing the various objections which were thus raised was infinitely greater than what I had felt while the struggle was actually in progress. In the days of struggle, the only difficulties felt crop up in our relations with the adversary, and these are always easily overcome, for then all inter¬ necine strife and internal discord are either suspended al¬ together or at least they lose their prominence in face of the common danger. But when the fight is over, internal jealousies are again fully in play, and if the differences with the adversary have been amicably settled, many take to the easy and grateful task of picking holes in the settle¬ ment. And in a democratic body it is only in the fitness of things that one has to provide satisfactory answers for the questions of every one, big and small. Even in offer¬ ing battle to the adversary one does not learn the valuable lessons which come home to oneself while thus dealing with misunderstandings and strivings between friends. There is a sort of intoxication and exultation in fighting the adver¬ sary. But misunderstandings and differences between friends are rare phenomena and are therefore all the more painful. Yet it is only on such occasions that one’s mettle is put to a real test. Such has been my experience without any exception, and I believe that it is only when passing through such ordeals that I have made the largest gains in things of the spirit. Many, who had not understood the real nature of the struggle while it was still going on, understood it fully in course of and after the settlement. Serious opposition was confined to the Pathans and did not travel beyond them.
The registrar of Asiatics was soon ready to issue regis¬ tration certificates under the new voluntary arrange¬ ment. The form of the certificates was altogether changed, and had been settled in consultation with the Satyagrahis.
On the morning of February 10, 1908 some of us got ready to go and take out certificates of registration. The sup¬ reme necessity of getting through the registration business with all possible expedition had been fully impressed on the community, and it had been agreed, that the leaders should be the first to take out certificates on the first day, with a view to break down shyness, to see if the officers concerned discharged their duties with courtesy and gener¬ ally to have an eye over all the arrangements.
When I reached my office, which was also the office of the Satyagraha Association, I found Mir Alam and his companions standing outside the premises. Mir Alam was an old client of mine, and used to seek my advice in all his affairs. Many Pathans in the Transvaal employed labourers to manufacture straw or coir mattresses, which they sold at a good profit, and Mir Alam did the same. He was fully six feet in height and of a large and powerful build. Today for the first time I saw Mir Alam outside my office instead of inside it, and although his eyes met mine, he for the first time refrained from saluting me. I saluted him and he saluted me in return. As usual I asked him, ‘How do you do?’ and my impression is that he said he was all right. But he did not today wear his usual smile on the face. I noticed his angry eyes and took a mental note of the fact. I thought that something was going to happen. I entered the office. The Chairman Mr Yusuf Mian and other friends arrived, and we set out for the Asiatic Office. Mir Alam and his companions followed us.
The Registration Office was at Von Brandis Square, less than a mile away from my office. On our way to it we had to pass through high roads. As we were going along Von Brandis Street, outside the premises of Messrs Arnot and Gibson, not more than three minutes5 walk from the Registration Office, Mir Alam accosted me and asked me, ‘Where are you going?5 4 1 propose to take out a certificate of registration, giving the ten finger-prints,5 I replied. ‘If you will go with me, I will first get you a certificate, with an impression only of the two thumbs, and then I will take one for myself, giving the finger-prints.5 I had scarcely finished the last sentence when a heavy cudgel blow descended on my head from behind. I at once fainted with the words He Rama (O God!) on my lips, lay prostrate on the ground and had no notion of what followed. But Mir Alam and his companions gave me more blows and kicks, some of which were warded off by Yusuf Mian and Thambi Naidoo with the result that they too became a target for attack in their turn. The noise attracted some European passers-by to the scene. Mir Alam and his compan¬ ions fled but were caught by the Europeans. The police arrived in the meanwhile and took them in custody. I was picked up and carried into Mr J. G. Gibson’s private office. When I regained consciousness, I saw Mr Doke bending over me. ‘How do you feel?5 he asked me.
‘I am all right,5 I replied, ‘but there is pain in the teeth and the ribs. Where is Mir Alam?5 ‘He has been arrested along with the rest.5 ‘They should be released.5 ‘That is all very well. But here you are in a stranger’s office with your lip and cheek badly lacerated. The police are ready to take you to the hospital, but if you will go to my place, Mrs Doke and I will minister to your comforts as best we can.5 ‘Yes, please take me to your place. Thank the police for their offer but tell them that I prefer to go with you.5 Mr Chamney the Registrar of Asiatics too now arrived on the scene. I was taken in a carriage to this good clergy¬ man’s residence in Smit Street and a doctor was called in. Meanwhile I said to Mr Chamney: ‘I wished to come to your office, give ten finger-prints and take out the first certificate of registration, but God willed it otherwise. However I have now to request you to bring the papers and allow me to register at once. I hope that you will not let any one else register before me.5 ‘Where is the hurry about it?5 asked Mr Chamney. ‘The doctor will be here soon. You please rest yourself and all will be well. I will issue certificates to others but keep your name at the head of the list.5 ‘Not so,5 I replied. ‘I am pledged to take out the first certificate if I am alive and if it is acceptable to God. It is therefore that I insist upon the papers being brought here and now.5 Upon this Mr Chamney went away to bring the papers.
The second thing for me to do was to wire to the Attorney-General that I did not hold Mir Alam and others guilty for the assault committed upon me, that in any case I did not wish them to be prosecuted and that I hoped they would be discharged for my sake. But the Europeans of Johannesburg addressed a strong letter to the Attorney-General saying that whatever views Gandhi might hold as regards the punishment of criminals, they could not be given effect to in South Africa. Gandhi himself might not take any steps, but the assault was committed not in a private place but on the high roads and was therefore a public offence. Several Englishmen too were in a position to tender evidence and the offenders must be prosecuted. Upon this the Attorney-General re-arrested Mir Alam and one of his companions who were sentenced to three months’ hard labour. Only I was not summoned as a witness.
But let us return to the sick room. Dr Thwaites came in while Mr Ghamney was still away. He examined me and stitched up the wounds in the cheek and on the upper lip. He prescribed some medicine to be applied to the ribsand enjoined silence upon me so long as the stitches were not removed. He restricted my diet to liquids only. He said that none of the injuries was serious, that I should be able to leave my bed and take up my ordinary activities in a week, but that I should be careful not to undertake much physical strain for two months more. So saying he left.
Thus speech was forbidden me, but I was still master of my hands. I addressed a short note as follows to the community through the Chairman and sent it for publi¬ cation: T am well in the brotherly and sisterly hands of Mr and Mrs Doke. I hope to take up my duty shortly.
‘Those who have committed the act did not know’ what they were doing. They thought that I was doing what was wrong. They have had their redress in the only manner they know. I therefore request that no steps be taken against them.
‘Seeing that the assault was committed by a Musalman or Musalmans, the Hindus might probably feel hurt. If so, they would put themselves in the wrong before the world and their Maker. Rather let the blood spilt today cement the two communities indissolubly — such is my heartfelt prayer. May God grant it.
‘Assault or no assault, my advice remains the same. The large majority of Asiatics ought to give finger-prints. Those who have real conscientious scruples will be exem¬ pted by the Government. To ask for more would be to show ourselves as children.
‘The spirit of Satyagraha rightly understood should make the people fear none and nothing but God. No cowardly fear therefore should deter the vast majority of sober-minded Indians from doing their duty. The promise of repeal of the Act against voluntary registration having been given, it is the sacred duty of every good Indian to help the Government and the Colony to the uttermost.’
Mr Ghamney returned with the papers and I gave my finger-prints but not without pain. I then saw that tears stood in Mr Ghamney’s eyes. I had often to write bitterly against him, but this showed me how man’s heart may be softened by events.
The reader will easily imagine that all this did not take more than a few minutes. Mr Doke and his good wife were anxious that I should be perfectly at rest and peace¬ ful, and were therefore pained to witness my mental acti¬ vity after the assault. They were afraid that it might react in a manner prejudicial to my health. They, therefore, by making signs and similar devices, removed all persons from near my bed, and asked me not to write or do any¬ thing. I made a request in writing, that before and in order that I might lie down quietly, their daughter Olive, who was then only a little girl, should sing for me my favourite English hymn, ‘Lead, kindly light.’ Mr Doke liked this very much and acceded to my request with a sweet smile. He called Olive by signs and asked her to stand at the door and sing the hymn in a low tone. The whole scene passes before my eyes as I dictate this, and the melodious voice of little Olive reverberates in my ears.
I have included in this chapter much that, I think and the reader too will think, is irrelevant to my subject. Yet I cannot close this chapter without adding one remini¬ scence, too sacred to be omitted. How shall I describe the service rendered to me by the Doke family?
Mr Joseph Doke was a Baptist minister then 46 years old and had been in New Zealand before he came to South Africa. Some six months before this assault, he came to my office and sent in his card. On seeing the word ‘Reverend’ before his name, I wrongly imagined that he had come, as some other clergymen did, to convert me to Christianity or to advise me to give up the struggle or perhaps to express patronizing sympathy with the movement. Mr Doke entered, and we had not talked many miniutes before I saw how sadly I had misjudged him and mentally apologized to him. I found him familiar with all the facts of the struggle which were published in newspapers. He said, Tlease consider me as your friend in this struggle. I consider it my religious duty to render you such help as I can. If I have learnt any lesson from the life of Jesus, it is this that one should share and lighten the load of those who are heavily laden.5 We thus got acquainted with each other, and every day marked an advance in our mutual affection and intimacy. The name of Mr Doke will often recur in course of the present volume, but it was necessary to say a few words by way of introducing him to the reader be¬ fore I describe the delicate attention I received at the hands of the Dokes.
Day and night one or other member of the family would be waiting upon me. The house became a sort of caravanserai so long as I stayed there. All classes of Indi¬ ans flocked to the place to inquire after -my health, and when later permitted by the doctor, to see me, from the humble hawker basket in hand with dirty clothes and dusty boots right up to the Chairman of the Transvaal British Indian Association. Mr Doke would receive all of them in his drawing room with uniform courtesy and con¬ sideration, and so long as I lived with the Dokes, all their time was occupied either with nursing me or with receiv¬ ing the hundreds of people who looked in to see me. Even at night Mr Doke would quietly peep twice or thrice into my room. While living under his hospitable roof, I never so much as felt that it was not my home, or that my nearest and dearest could have looked after me better than the Dokes.
And it must not be supposed that Mr Doke had not to suffer for according public support to the Indians in their struggle and for harbouring me under his roof. Mr Doke was in charge of a Baptist church, and depended for his livelihood upon a congregation of Europeans, not all of whom entertained liberal views and among whom dislike of the Indians was perhaps as general as among other Europeans. But Mr Doke was unmoved by it. I had discussed this delicate subject with him in the very begin¬ ning of our acquaintance. And he said, ‘My dear friend, what do you think of the religion of Jesus? I claim to be a humble follower of Him, who cheerfully mounted the cross for the faith that was in Him, and whose love was as wide as the world. I must take a public part in your struggle if I am at all desirous of representing Christ to the Europeans who, you are afraid, will give me up as punishment for it. And I must not complain if they do thus give me up. My livelihood is indeed derived from them, but you certainly do not think that I am associated with them for living’s sake, or that they are my cherishers. My cherisher is God; they are but the instruments of His Almighty will. It is one of the unwritten conditions of my connection with them, that none of them may interfere with my religious liberty. Please therefore stop worry¬ ing on my account. I am taking my place beside you in this struggle not to oblige the Indians but as a matter of duty. The fact, however, is that I have fully discussed this question with my dean. I gently informed him, that if he did not approve of my relations with the Indians, he might permit me to retire and engage another minister instead. But he not only asked me not to trouble myself about it but even spoke some words of encouragement. Again you must not imagine, that all Europeans alike entertain hatred against your people. You can have no idea of the silent sympathy of many with your tribulations, and you will agree with me that I must know about it situated as I am.’
After this clear explanation, I never referred to the subject again. And later on when Mr Doke died in the pursuit of his holy calling in Rhodesia, at a time when the Satyagraha struggle was still in progress, the Baptists call¬ ed a meeting in their church, to which they invited the late Mr Kachhalia and other Indians as well as myself, and which they asked me to address.
About ten days afterwards I had recovered enough strength to move about fairly well, and I then took my leave of this godly family. The parting was a great wrench to me no less than to the Dokes.
CHAPTER XXIII As the number of Europeans of position, who actively sided with the Indians in their struggle, was fairly large, it will not perhaps, be out of place to introduce them here to the reader all at once, so that when their names occur later on in this narrative, they will not be strange to him, and I shall not have to stop in the midst of the narrative in order to introduce them. The order in which the names have been arranged is not the order of the merit of service rendered, nor that of the public estimation in which the bearers of the names were held. I mention the friends in order of the time when I got acquainted with them and in connection with the various branches of the struggle where they helped the Indians.
The first name is that of Mr Albert West, whose asso¬ ciation with the community dated from before the struggle and whose association with me commenced earlier still. When I opened my office in Johannesburg my wife was not with me. The reader will remember that in 1903 I received a cable from South Africa and suddenly left India, expecting to return home within a year. Mr West used to frequent the vegetarian restaurant in Johannesburg where I regularly had my meals both morning and even¬ ing, and we thus became acquainted with each other. He was then conducting a printing press in partnership with another European. In 1904 a virulent plague broke out among the Indians in Johannesburg. I was fully engaged in nursing the patients, and my visits to the restaurant became irregular. Even when I went, I went there before the other guests in order to avoid any possible danger from their coming in contact with me. Mr West became anxious when he did not find me there for two days in succession as he had read in the papers that I was attend¬ ing to the plague patients. The third day, at 6 o’clock in the morning I was scarcely ready to go out when Mr West knocked at my door. When I opened it, I saw Mr West with his beaming face.
‘I am so glad to see you,5 he exclaimed. ‘I had been worrying about you, not finding you at the restaurant. Do tell me if I can do anything for you.5 ‘Will you nurse the patients?’ I asked jocularly.
‘Why not? I am quite ready.5 Meanwhile I had thought out my plans, and said, ‘No other answer could be expected of you, but there are al¬ ready many helping with the nursing, and besides, I pro¬ pose to put you to still harder work. Madanjit is here on plague duty, and there is no one to look after the Indian Opinion press. If you go to Durban and take charge of the press, it will be really a great help. I cannot of course offer you any tempting terms. Ten pounds a month and half the profits if any is all that I can afford.5 ‘That is rather a tough job. I must have my partner’s permission, and then there are some dues to be collected. But never mind. Will you wait till evening for my final answer?5 ‘Yes, we meet in the park at 6 o’clock.5 So we met. Mr West had obtained his partner’s per¬ mission. He entrusted me with the recovery of his dues, and left for Durban by the evening train the next day. In a month I had his report that not only was the press not profitable at all but it was actually a losing concern. There were large arrears to be collected but the books had been badly kept. Even the list of the names and addresses of subscribers was incomplete. There was also mismanage¬ ment in other respects. Mr West did not write all this as a matter of complaint. As he did not care for profit, he assured me that he would not give up what he had under¬ taken, but gave me clearly to understand that the paper would not be paying its way for a long time to come.
Shri Madanjit had come to Johannesburg to canvass subscribers for the paper as well as to confer with me as regards the management of the press. Every month I had to meet a small or large deficit, and I was therefore desirous of having a more definite idea of my possible liabilities.
Madanjit had no experience of printing press business and I had been thinking since the beginning, that it would be well to associate a trained hand with him. The plague broke out in the meantime, and as Madanjit was just the man for such a crisis, I put him on to nursing. And I closed with West’s unexpected offer and told him that he was to go not temporarily while the epidemic lasted, but for good. Hence his report on the prospects- of the paper just referred to.
The reader knows how at last both the paper and the press were removed to Phoenix, where West drew a- monthly allowance of £ 3 instead of -£ 10 as previously arranged. West was himself fully agreeable to all these changes. I never observed in him the least anxiety as to how he would be able to maintain himself. I recognized in him a deeply religious spirit, although he was not a student of religion. He was a man of perfectly independent temperament. He would say what he thought of all things, and would not hesitate to call a spade a spade. He was quite simple in habits. He was unmarried when we first met, and I know that he lived a life of spotless purity. Some years later he went to England to see his parents and returned a married man. By my advice he brought with him his wife, mother-in-law and unmarried sister, who all lived in extreme simplicity and in every way fraternized with the Indians in Phoenix.