Gandhi

by Ramachandra Guha

  Ambedkar followed this interview with a long, signed article expressing how ‘astounded’ he was by Gandhi’s decision to fast. He defended separate electorates as the best way for ‘untouchables’ to escape ‘the tyranny of the majority’. All across India the Depressed Classes were ‘mercilessly’ put down and exploited; therefore, ‘for a community so handicapped to succeed in the struggle for life against organised tyranny, some share of political power in order that it may protect itself was a paramount necessity’.

  Ambedkar continued:

  I should have thought that a well-wisher of the Depressed Classes would have fought tooth and nail for securing for them as much political power as might be possible in the new Constitution. But the Mahatma’s ways of thinking are strange and certainly beyond my comprehension. He not only does not endeavour to augment the scanty political power which the Depressed Classes have got under the Communal Award, but on the contrary has staked his very life in order to deprive them of the little they have got.

  Gandhi, claimed Ambedkar, had orally promised him that the Congress would encourage candidates from the Depressed Classes who contested in general seats, but in the absence of constitutional safeguards such promises meant nothing. Ambedkar thus wrote that he could not

  accept the assurances of the Mahatma that he and his Congress will do the needful. I cannot leave so important a question as the protection of my people to conventions and misunderstandings. The Mahatma is not an immortal person…There have been many Mahatmas in India whose sole object was to remove untouchability and to elevate and absorb the Depressed Classes but every one of them have failed in their mission. Mahatmas have come and Mahatmas have gone. But untouchables have remained as untouchables.

  Ambedkar remarked that he would have understood if the Mahatma was to fast unto death ‘for stopping riots between Hindus and Mahomedans’ or for ‘any other national cause’, but to do so to oppose the Communal Award would ‘result in nothing but terrorism by his followers against the Depressed Classes all over the country’.

  The last sentences of Ambedkar’s powerful and poignant statement ran: ‘I, however, trust the Mahatma will not drive me to the necessity of making a choice between his life and the rights of my people. For, I can never consent to deliver my people bound hand and foot to the caste Hindus for generations to come.’23

  VI

  On 16 September, Gandhi drafted a press release explaining the purposes of the fast. This urged reformers to work harder for ‘the fullest freedom for the “depressed classes” inside the Hindu fold’, asking them to ‘count their lives of no cost to achieve the liberation of these classes and therefore [rid] Hinduism of this age-old superstition’. The same day, he also wrote letters to some friends informing them of this ‘momentous step in my life’; this select group included the British Quaker Agatha Harrison, Romain Rolland, Anasuya Sarabhai, and, significantly, Saraladevi Chaudhurani.24

  On 19 September, the Times of India printed a report on Gandhi’s preparation for the fast, filed by its Poona correspondent. Based on leaks from the prison staff, the paper had come to know that Gandhi ‘has been refraining from his usual exercise, cutting it slowly down so that to-day he is taking little or none, and thus will not feel the need of it to the same extent when he starts his fast and is compelled to conserve his energy to keep his grip on life. He still turns once a day to spinning, but more as a matter of form than to complete a daily task and maintain a regular output as his contribution to the Swadeshi movement….He is even reading less than hitherto but is always bright and cheerful.’25

  In the early hours of the 20th, Gandhi drafted a letter to Rabindranath Tagore, asking for his blessings if he approved of the fast; if not, he would ‘yet prize your criticism, if your heart condemns my action’. Before he could post the letter, he was handed a telegram by the prison staff; it was from Tagore, saying he would ‘follow your sublime penance with reverence and love’. Gandhi now added a postscript, saying the poet’s ‘loving and magnificent wire’ would ‘sustain me in the midst of the storm I am about to enter’.26

  Gandhi had fasted many times in the past. However, all his previous fasts had been for a duration specified by him in advance. This was his first indefinite fast.

  Gandhi’s fast unto death to keep the Depressed Classes in the Hindu fold was to begin at 12 noon on 20 September 1932. That day, he had a meal of fruits and vegetables at 7 a.m., and a glass of honey and hot water at 11.30 a.m. Then his disciple Raihana Tyabji sang a few hymns, beginning with one of her own compositions in Hindi, whose first line (in translation) read, ‘O traveller, get up, leave your bed, because it is daybreak.’ When the clock struck twelve, Gandhi commenced his fast, saying he had never felt fitter in his life.27

  Later that evening, a group of journalists were allowed to meet him. They found him in the prison courtyard, lying on a cot placed under the shade of a mango tree. Around him were Mahadev, Vallabhbhai and Kasturba, who had come down from Ahmedabad to be with her husband.

  As his followers fanned away the flies, Gandhi told the visiting newsmen of his experiences seeing and speaking to ‘untouchables’ in different parts of India, from which he had drawn the conclusion ‘that, if they are ever to rise, it will not be by reservation of seats but will be by the strenuous work of Hindu reformers in their midst, and it is because I feel that this separation [by electorates] would have killed all prospect of reform that my whole soul has rebelled against it…’

  Gandhi said that he lived for, and was willing to die for, ‘the eradication of untouchability root and branch’. He wanted ‘a living pact whose life-giving effect would be felt…by an all-India demonstration of “touchables” and “untouchables” meeting together, not by way of a theatrical show, but in real brotherly embrace’. If untouchability was ‘really rooted out’, argued Gandhi, it would ‘not merely purge Hinduism of a terrible blot but its repercussions will be world-wide. My fight against untouchability is a fight against the impure in humanity…’

  In this struggle, said Gandhi, his own life was ‘of no consequence. One hundred lives given for this noble cause would, in my opinion, be poor penance done by Hindus for the atrocious wrongs they have heaped upon helpless men and women of their faith.’28

  Of Gandhi’s long-standing commitment to ending untouchability, there could be no question. Even so, this moving account of how he had arrived at his decision was marred by the use of that unfortunate adjective, ‘helpless’. It sounded patronizing, robbing ‘untouchables’ of agency, of being able to articulate their own demands and grievances. This was precisely the kind of attitude that Ambedkar was protesting against.29

  As Gandhi fasted in Poona, a conference began in Bombay seeking ways to save his life. Attending this meeting were Malaviya, Sapru, Jayakar, Rajagopalachari and Rajendra Prasad. Ambedkar was also finally persuaded to take part. Late in the evening, Rajagopalachari and G.D. Birla went to Poona to meet Gandhi, carrying a proposal for joint electorates drafted by the former.

  Meanwhile, reports were coming in from across the country of upper castes offering a concrete demonstration of repentance in response to Gandhi’s call. Temples were being thrown open to ‘untouchables’ in, among other places, Ayodhya, Banaras, Calcutta, Allahabad, Bombay and Sirsi. The Bombay Chronicle carried the news under this headline: ‘Orthodoxy Yields: More Temples Opened to “Untouchables”: Country’s Grim Effort to Save Mahatma’.30

  On the evening of 21 September, Ambedkar left for Poona to meet with Gandhi. Before boarding the train, he gave an interview to the Times of India. He had heard that Gandhi wished to meet him as well as the veteran leader of the Depressed Classes in South India, M.C. Rajah. Ambedkar made it clear that he ‘will have nothing to do by way of negotiation with Mr. Rajah and his party, and if Mr. Gandhi wishes to talk with them, he should do so separately. My reason for saying this is that the dispute is really between me and my party on the one hand an
d Mr. Gandhi on the other.’31

  The self-confidence was striking. More than twenty years younger than Gandhi, far less known than him in India or abroad, Ambedkar saw himself as a political equal. It was an argument between his party and Gandhi’s. They were the two leaders who mattered; the rest were peripheral or inconsequential.

  On the 22nd, Ambedkar visited Gandhi at Yerwada jail. They talked for three hours, mostly about the compromise formula in which there would be joint electorates, but with greater representation for the Depressed Classes than in the Communal Award. One exchange, of which notes were taken down by Mahadev Desai, was telling. Ambedkar said that ‘I want political power for my community. That is indispensable for our survival.’ Gandhi, in reply, said that ‘you are born an untouchable but I am an untouchable by adoption. And as a new convert I feel more for the welfare of the community than those who are already there.’32

  On this day, the 22nd, Gandhi met separately with other Depressed Classes leaders, among them M.C. Rajah and Palwankar Baloo, a famous cricketer who had been an early hero of Ambedkar’s. He also had discussions with Tej Bahadur Sapru and M.R. Jayakar, who, once again, were emerging as important mediators. Both were top-flight lawyers, and both had close connections with the Imperial Government.33

  During the first two nights of his fast, Gandhi slept in the open, under the sky. During the day he spun yarn and held prayer meetings in the morning and evening. Now, however, he had been three days without food and was passing through what one newspaper described as ‘the worst stage in the fast—the time when the pangs of hunger are beginning to fade and the faster is about to enter what Mr. Gandhi described as “The brooding period” where he becomes one with the subject for which he is fasting. His face is becoming more drawn and his eyes somewhat sunken. Nevertheless, he has been able to receive many visitors.’

  On 24 September, the Bombay Chronicle’s front page carried this headline: ‘SUDDEN TURN IN MAHATMA’S HEALTH CAUSES ANXIETY’. Gandhi, said the newspaper, was feeling the strain of the fast and the effect of prolonged conversations in this state. He was having bouts of nausea. His voice had grown feeble. He had difficulty keeping his eyes open. And he had lost several pounds in weight.

  On the same day, the Chronicle carried an essay by B.G. Horniman, which argued that, beyond questions of separate versus joint electorates,

  for those who work in the field of social and religious reform there is still a stupendous task to be attacked and completed, in the emancipation of the untouchables from their outcaste status from birth to death—their right to take water from the wells, to enter the temples of their faith, for their children to sit in the schools with those of other castes and communities, and the right to live and move and have their being on equal terms with their fellow-men. All this will not be the work of a day or a year. The battle against orthodoxy will still be a hard one, and it will be prolonged.34

  VII

  From very early in his career B.R. Ambedkar had no difficulty in being alone or exceptional. At a young age, he had chosen to strike out on his own, to form his own political organization rather than join one that already existed. In an already crowded political field this was a courageous choice. Between 1913 and 1926, he was in and out of India, the years spent overseas used to acquire doctorates from Columbia University and the London School of Economics, and to qualify as a barrister at the London Bar.

  Ambedkar had been politically active even as a young college student in Bombay. But it was only from the mid-1920s that politics and social reform became a full-time concern. Within a few years, he had made a considerable impact through his scholarship, his eloquence and his commitment. Recognized as the main leader of the Depressed Classes in his native Maharashtra, he had also made a powerful impression on the British rulers. They invited him as a delegate to the two Round Table Conferences, in each of which he made the case for separate electorates for his people.

  A journalist who knew him well in the 1930s wrote that ‘Ambedkar was undoubtedly a tall man, who appeared far taller among the pigmies surrounding him. But he had a pretty good conceit of himself. Why not? He was a self-made man and risen by his own talents. He had proved that in this secularly oppressed class there probably was an untapped reservoir of talent.’35

  Had Ambedkar been less independent-minded, he would have either joined the Congress or taken a secure, well-paying job in the colonial administration. But in the former case, he knew he would have to play second fiddle to Gandhi, while in the latter he would not be free to express his views. In charting his own path, Ambedkar had come into conflict with the country’s major political party and even with senior leaders of his own Depressed Classes. This isolation he did not mind; indeed, he was probably prepared for it. But Gandhi’s fast unto death had placed him in a situation far more uncomfortable than any he had faced before. With other leaders of the Depressed Classes allying with the Congress, with the opening of temples signalling an (admittedly very belated and partial) opening of the Hindu mind, he felt far more isolated than ever before. And perhaps he felt coerced as well. Every day that Gandhi went without food added to the pressure on Ambedkar to reach an agreement. For, if the most influential Indian of the age was to succumb to his fast, how could Ambedkar continue to live with the burden of Gandhi’s death on his head and on his conscience?

  VIII

  On 23 September, a day-long meeting was held in Poona to discuss the terms of a possible compromise. On one side were the caste Hindus, represented by Sapru, Jayakar, Rajagopalachari and the social worker A.V. Thakkar, among others. On the other side were leaders of the Depressed Classes, led by Ambedkar. One who was there recalled that ‘Dr. Ambedkar and his group acted in concert and showed the greatest discipline. They proved themselves to be hard bargainers. It was the Doctor himself who did most of the speaking on behalf of the group.’36

  The discussion centred around the key question of representation. If there were to be joint electorates, how many seats should the Depressed Classes have in the legislature? In the Communal Award with separate electorates, they were granted seventy-one seats all told in the provincial legislatures. The caste Hindus were happy to increase this number if their demand for a joint electorate was agreed upon. But by how much?

  Ambedkar began by asking for a total of 197 seats. The other side thought this excessively high. It was agreed that the tally should be based on the proportion of the Depressed Classes in the total population, province by province. Census figures were presented and analysed. ‘The redoubtable Doctor, strongly supported by his colleagues, fought every inch of the ground.’37 After many hours of discussion, a figure of 148 seats was agreed upon by both parties. This was a little more than twice the number granted to the Depressed Classes by the Communal Award. The Depressed Classes were to be allocated thirty seats in both the Punjab and Bengal, twenty apiece in the Central and the United Provinces, and fifteen in Bombay. It was also agreed that 19 per cent of the general seats in the central legislature would be reserved for the Depressed Classes.

  Ambedkar had asked that any agreement arrived at should be put to a referendum of the Depressed Classes after a few years. The Congress leaders were not prepared to concede this. Eventually, the matter was taken to Gandhi. It was now past nine at night. Ambedkar and Gandhi talked by the latter’s bed under the mango tree. The Doctor asked for a referendum; Gandhi said he would not object to one. As the conversation continued, Gandhi’s voice became noticeably weaker. Now the doctors stepped in; they would not further endanger the fasting man’s health any more. He must get some rest after what for him (and everybody else) had been an exhausting, nerve-racking day.

  The next day the discussions continued. Malaviya and company continued to be adamantly opposed to a referendum. Ambedkar asked for a referendum after ten years. Gandhi answered that if he distrusted the caste Hindus, it was better that he tested their conscience after five years itself. Ambedkar
was not sure whether this was enough time to judge whether joint electorates were better than separate ones. Gandhi insisted that if he was unsure it was better he tested them sooner rather than later. According to one eyewitness, he even said: ‘There you are. Five years or my life.’38

  On 24 September, the doctors told Gandhi that if he did not terminate the fast, his health would rapidly deteriorate, and he would not be able to ‘continue negotiations for much longer’. His ‘vitality was decidedly lower’, while his other parameters (urine, blood pressure, etc.) portended ‘entry into the danger zone’. So that it would not be blamed in case he died, the government was considering moving Gandhi to a private residence in Poona.39

  In their conversations, Ambedkar had seen for himself how tired and weary Gandhi was. Could he afford to have the matter unresolved much longer? After meeting Gandhi on the 24th afternoon, Ambedkar went into a huddle with his colleagues. They were still unsure as to whether it would be prudent to have a referendum before ten years had elapsed. Eventually, acting on a suggestion by Rajagopalachari, it was decided to drop the question of the referendum altogether.

  At 5 p.m. on the 24th, what became known as the ‘Poona Pact’ was formally signed in the presence of Gandhi. This ratified the number of reserved seats, province by province, with further clauses committing its signatories to providing educational facilities to the Depressed Classes and a fairer representation in the public services. The twenty-two people (all men) who signed the pact in the first instance included Ambedkar, Malaviya, Sapru, Jayakar, G.D. Birla, Rajah, Baloo and Rajagopalachari. Notably, Gandhi himself did not sign the agreement on his own behalf, though his son Devadas did.40