On hearing of the incident, Nehru came to Birla House, met Gandhi and also discussed the matter with the police.5
II
The doctors had told Gandhi to wait a fortnight after his fast ended before travelling out of Delhi. While he wished to go to the Punjab, he hadn’t been in his ashram in Sevagram since August 1946. His devoted (and always possessive) disciples called him there. He now planned to leave for Wardha on 2 February, stay two weeks in the ashram, and then come back north and carry on to the Punjab and Pakistan.
On 26 January, the Urs, or annual festival of homage, began in the shrine of the thirteenth-century saint Qutubuddin Bakhtiyar at Mehrauli. The holding of the Urs was a crucial part of the peace pledge presented to Gandhi. On the 27th, he went to Mehrauli himself. Gandhi had never felt the need to pray in, or even visit, formally sanctified structures. He had made an exception in the case of the Meenakshi temple in Madurai when it finally admitted Harijans. He would make another exception now for this tomb outside Delhi.
When Gandhi reached Mehrauli, a large crowd, estimated at close to 10,000, had assembled to welcome him. Gandhi was escorted around the site and told the life story of the saint. He expressed distress at the damage to the marble trellis. A custodian of the tomb thanked Gandhi for creating the conditions in which the Urs was celebrated. A representative of Ajmer Sharif (the tomb of the even greater Sufi saint Hazrat Moinuddin Chishti) told Gandhi that many Muslims had fled Ajmer, and asked him to come ‘to allay the panic of the Muslims who were still there’.6
Later, in a brief speech, Gandhi requested ‘the Hindus, Sikhs and Muslims who have come here with cleansed hearts to take a vow at this holy place that you will never allow strife to raise its head, but will live in amity, united as friends and brothers’.7
Gandhi visited the shrine in Mehrauli, but Muslims in the city continued to feel insecure. That evening, at the prayer meeting in Birla House, Gandhi asked how many Muslims were present. One, was the answer. ‘Sirf ek?’ (only one?), he said, sadly, before urging those present to bring their Muslim friends along the next day.8
III
Through 1947, as he was seeking to douse fires in Bengal, Bihar and Delhi, Gandhi had been peppered with a series of letters from a friend with whom he had long been out of touch. His name was John Cordes. A Christian priest of German extraction, based in Rhodesia, in 1907 Cordes had left the ministry and joined Gandhi’s rural settlement in Natal. Here, he lived with contentment for some years, before discovering theosophy, and travelling to India to meet Annie Besant. He soon returned, disenchanted, and spent his time shuttling between different parts of South Africa. In between, he had rejoined the Church, and then left it again.9
In May 1947, Cordes wrote to Gandhi out of the blue. He was looking ‘around for fields anew’, and thought of coming over to India to join his old friend. He had, he told Gandhi, ‘devised a remarkably interesting way of teaching History, Geography, Art & International bridging of nationalities and Races’. He could also translate articles from German for Gandhi’s papers. His letter continued:
All this if approved by you. I bow to your services, as of yore. You are the man on the spot. Then as now I should have to be approved by the Settlers themselves. For you I have a remarkable study (Gnostic-Chinese-Chaldean-Indian etc) on Longevity. It may make you 127 or 157, just a generation longer. Then as now I can be of modest financial assistance again. I should prefer to come via Calcutta to see Sri Paramah Ramakrishna Kali Temples & possibly Sri Sri Anandamayiji & possibly Budha Gaya and Benares. Then as now, I do not proselytize for Adyar, Theosophy nor for Christ, but if allowed I like to join in appeals for womenfolk & children…10
Gandhi wrote back asking Cordes to come to Sevagram. He did, but first undertook a leisurely trip through India itself. In late November, he finally made his way, via Madras, Calcutta and Rajasthan, to Sevagram, accompanied by fifteen trunks of luggage, which included some four hundred books. Gandhi was himself in Delhi, so his nephew Chhaganlal helped him settle into the ashram, and began teaching him Hindustani.
From Sevagram, Cordes wrote a series of frenzied mails to the ashram’s absent founder. In a letter of December 1947, he told Gandhi that he ‘attended the Prayer meeting at 7.30 pm, & listened (in bed) to the 4.30 puja. It is too cold then to sit in the dark & wind on the cold ground, but when warmth and light return I shall be of the party.’ In another, he told of being asked to recite a Christian prayer, whereupon, as he wrote, ‘I chose the following as in your Spirit (adapted from Liberal Catholic Liturgy): Almighty God, unto whom all hearts be open, all desires be known & from whom no secrets are hid; cleanse the thoughts of our hearts by the inspiration of Thy Holy Spirit that we may perfectly love Thee, & worthily magnify Thy Holy Name; Teach us, O Lord, to see Thy life in all men and in all the peoples of Thine earth & so guide the nations into the understanding of Thy laws that peace and goodwill may reign upon earth. Amen.’11
In the midst of his walks and fasts for communal harmony, Gandhi must have welcomed the diversion provided by Cordes’s letters. They reminded him of his formative years in South Africa, of the friendships he forged there, and the comparatively less strenuous struggles he had waged in that country. Cordes, for his part, was impressed by his friend’s commitment and resolve. Thus, one letter thanks Gandhi for his ‘charming note of the 4th Dec. Fancy finding the time in this turmoil of hectic days & incessant audiences to write to me!’ In another letter he wrote: ‘How on earth your dear letter of the 19th 5.45 am could have reached me at 10 o’clock today I have not fathomed yet. You still chase yourself to death, up at 4 am, & to bed a little bit before that! Miraculous and superhumanlike!’12
IV
On 29 January, the postman brought, as always, many letters addressed to Gandhi. Among the letters was one from Henry Polak. With Kasturba and Pranjivan Mehta dead, perhaps no person alive knew Gandhi better and longer than Polak. Yet, their relationship had recently undergone some strain. His former housemate in Johannesburg, his second in command in his years in South Africa, had taken against Gandhi during the World War, going so far as to visit the United States to preach against him.
After Kasturba died, Polak had sent a letter of consolation and also written a warm tribute for publication. There had been messages sent and received from mutual friends. The process of reconciliation had begun. Scars remained, on Gandhi’s side especially. Polak knew that, and was seeking to remove them. In this latest letter, posted from Folkestone on 23 January and arriving in Delhi on the 29th, he asked Gandhi whether he had ‘got our two anxious telegrams’. He and his wife Millie were, he said, ‘greatly relieved’ at the conclusion of his recent fast. ‘We deeply hope, with you,’ wrote Polak to Gandhi, ‘that the peace will be real and lasting, and that you may not have to resort again to a fast—at least, on this account. It is tragic to think that this fast should have become necessary for the restoration of communal peace, when I recall that some 24 years ago you had to resort to a fast to ensure communal unity. To-day’s news is that your strength is beginning to return and that you hope soon to have got back to normal. We, too, most earnestly hope so.’
Polak seems to have realized afresh what had been obscured during the anguished choices and partisan politics of the Second World War; that the friend he had once called ‘Bada Bhai’, elder brother, was one of the great figures of the age. So, in this letter of reaching out and reconciliation, Polak underlined his own intimate ties to Gandhi. Thus he wrote:
I am now a member of the Executive Committee of the London Vegetarian Society, of which you were an early member…I have often shown at vegetarian gatherings your membership badge, which you gave me years ago in Johannesburg. I still have—and frequently refer to—your signed copy of the Song Celestial that we used to read together. I have read nearly 40 English renderings of the Bhagavad Gita, but like you I prefer Arnold’s rendering to the rest, and quote from it when I hav
e occasion to refer to the B.G. in my lectures.
The letter then turned to family matters, speaking of Millie, who had dislocated her shoulder; of their son, Leon, who ‘is a great standby in the professional work’ [of law]; of their grandchildren. Polak said he often mentioned in legal circles that he had been professionally articled to Gandhi, who was thus, in a matter of speaking, his ‘father-in-law’. Further underlining the once very close, now somewhat distant, personal connections, he mentioned meeting the Indian journalist Krishnalal Shridharani, and telling him that ‘our relations had been those of Bhai and Chhotabhai. He at once insisted on addressing me as Kakaji!’ (father’s younger brother).
The letter’s last line read: ‘Hoping to continue to get good news of you and of India and communal relations, and with our love.’ Polak had started by addressing Gandhi as ‘My dear Bhai’, and signed off as ‘Henry (C)’, the ‘C’ standing for ‘Chotabhai’.13
Although one can’t be absolutely certain, Pyarelal must have brought this letter to Gandhi’s attention. He would have read it with pleasure, affection, and perhaps, a certain sense of relief.
V
It was now five months since Independence, and Gandhi was increasingly disenchanted with the behaviour of the Congressmen who had taken office. On 29 January, he drafted a short note arguing that the Congress itself should be disbanded, since it had ‘outlived its use’ as ‘a propaganda vehicle and parliamentary machine’. It must keep itself ‘out of unhealthy competition with political parties and communal bodies’.
Other parties could contest elections and run governments, but the Congress, argued Gandhi, should now become a Lok Sevak Sangh (Society for the Service of the People). The workers of this new organization (habitual khadi wearers of course) should focus on rural reconstruction, on making India’s villages ‘self-contained and self-supporting through their agriculture and handicrafts’. They should ‘educate the village folk in sanitation and hygiene’ and enrol them for voting in local, state and national elections.14
This document was prompted by reports of the arrogance and misconduct of Congress legislators and ministers. Gandhi hoped to circulate it among party members across India. He had not yet shown it to Nehru and Patel, who would most likely have dismissed it as idealistic. If the Congress suddenly left office, who would run the government? Rather than leave the running of the State to untested or malevolent men, surely it was wiser to have people of quality and credibility at the helm of power?
Gandhi had been upset by the bickering between Nehru and Patel. Despite their differences, however, the two men had been working independently to create a united and peaceable India. On 29 January, the day that Gandhi wrote his note asking for the disbanding of the Congress, Patel held a press conference in Delhi, where he briefed reporters on the princely states that had already joined the Union. As regards the recalcitrant nizam of Hyderabad, Patel insisted that the ‘accession of Hyderabad was inevitable’. The same day, Nehru addressed a meeting in Amritsar, where, ‘trembling with anger and emotion’, he spoke of an incident where some people (most likely angry Hindu refugees) had trampled upon the national flag on 26 January. Nehru insisted: ‘Whoever insults the National Flag—be he a Pakistani, a Britisher, a Hindu [Maha]Sabhaite or an R.S.S. man—will be considered a traitor and will be treated as such.’15
These activities of Gandhi’s key political lieutenants were captured on the front page of the Hindustan Times of 30 January 1948. The top story on the left of the page carried the headline, ‘BLOODLESS REVOLUTION IN STATES’; the lead story on the right carried the headline, ‘NEHRU DARES COMMUNALISTS TO COME OUT IN OPEN’.
VI
On 30 January 1948, Gandhi woke up as usual at 3.30 a.m. After his toilet, he attended morning prayers, had a glass of water mixed with honey and lime juice, and then a short nap. His first appointment was at 7 p.m., with a social worker on her way to America. After a massage, he read the morning papers, revised his note on the future of the Congress, had his daily Bengali lesson, and then ate his breakfast, which consisted of boiled vegetables, goat’s milk, raw radish, tomatoes and orange juice.
After his morning meal, Gandhi had another nap. His first appointments on waking up were with the leaders of Delhi’s Muslims, the maulanas Hifzur Rahman and Ahmed Said. A conference of constructive workers had been called in Sevagram on 2 February. Gandhi was keen to attend; moreover, he had not been back to his ashram for more than a year. But he would leave Delhi only if he was certain that the Muslims in the city felt secure. Maulana Hifzur Rahman told him that now he had made their city peaceful and their community safe, he was free to travel to Sevagram. Gandhi then asked his associate Brij Krishna Chandiwala to book the train tickets to Wardha.
At about 1 p.m. on 30 of January, the Gujarati philanthropist Shantikumar Morarjee came to see Gandhi. They discussed the writing of a biography of Mahadev Desai, and the editing of his diaries, with Morarjee willing to foot the bill. Gandhi suggested that since Mahadev’s old friend Narhari Parikh was not well, another long-time ashramite, Chandrashankar Shukla, be asked to do the job.16
Through the afternoon, Gandhi met with visitors. They included refugees, Harijans, Congress leaders and social workers. A diplomat from Ceylon also called with his daughter. The historian Radha Kumud Mukherjee also came.17
The most important visitor of the day arrived at 4.30 in the afternoon. This was Vallabhbhai Patel. They discussed the growing rift between him and Nehru, which Gandhi thought was ‘disastrous’. Perhaps one of them should leave the Cabinet to leave the field clear for the other person. The discussion was intense and prolonged; so much so that Gandhi was late for the prayer meeting. Nehru himself had planned to come and talk to Gandhi after the prayers were over.18
At about quarter past five on the evening of 30 January, Gandhi stepped out of Birla House, and began walking towards the garden, where the prayer meeting was to be held. He had, as was now customary, his hands around the shoulders of his grand-nieces Manu and Abha. As he climbed the steps to the platform from where he would speak, a man in a khaki tunic advanced towards Gandhi, as if to touch his feet. Since they were late, Abha tried to stop him. The man roughly pushed her aside; she stumbled backwards, Gandhi’s notebook, spittoon and rosary falling from her hands. The interloper then ‘suddenly stepped out in front of him and whipping out a pistol, fired three shots at him at point-blank range. One bullet hit Gandhiji in the chest and two in the abdomen.’ He collapsed and fell to the ground, muttering ‘Hé Ram’, an invocation to his favourite mythological figure and lifelong icon, the god-king Ram.
On hearing the shots being fired, ‘a terrible cry rose from the crowd, who closed in on the assailant’. He was overpowered, and handed over to the police. Gandhi was carried into Birla House. Nothing could be done to revive him. He had been killed almost instantaneously.19
As news of the assassination spread, the first to arrive at Birla House were Devadas Gandhi and Maulana Azad. They were followed by Nehru, Patel, the Mountbattens, other ministers and senior officials (including the army chief, General Roy Bucher). As one report went, ‘Pandit Nehru and Sardar Patel sat for long beside the body and gazed hard baffled by the sudden catastrophe. Maulana Azad after a while retreated to a secluded corner to mourn in silence. The Governor-General, Lord Mountbatten, hearing someone say that it would be a day of mourning for the whole country, remarked that it would be a day of mourning for the entire world.’20
As the dignitaries crowded into Birla House, an enterprising reporter went out of the premises, and walked over to the nearest police station, at the intersection of Aurangzeb and Tughlak Roads. There, in a dark, unlit room, was Gandhi’s assassin. When the reporter set eyes on him, ‘blood was pouring from his forehead and had practically covered the whole left side of his face. This I was told was due to the blows which the spectators had heaped upon him. The police told me that contrary to the original report the assassin had not tried to sh
oot himself but some nearby spectators who saw him shooting at Gandhiji had pounced upon him and mauled him.’
The assassin, who was handcuffed, got up when the reporter entered the room. He said his name was Nathuram, and that he was from Poona. He gave his age as twenty-five, but the journalist thought ‘he looked considerably older’.
When asked whether he had anything to say, Gandhi’s murderer ‘smiled blandly’ and remarked: ‘For the present I only want to say that I am not at all sorry for what I have done. The rest I will explain in court.’
At this stage the police intervened, and disallowed further questions. On his way out, the reporter asked a policeman what Nathuram was carrying apart from his gun (a Beretta automatic). Four hundred rupees, was the answer.21
Back in Birla House, Gandhi’s body was draped in a white khadi cloth, put on a plain bier, and carried to the terrace. Floodlights were put on to make the body visible to the crowds below. ‘Shouts of “Mahatma Gandhi ki jai” rent the air. People wept and sobbed.’22
At 2 a.m., after the crowds had dispersed, Gandhi’s associates brought the body inside to give it a bath. A tub was filled with cold water. The task of bathing the dead Mahatma was handed over to Brij Krishna Chandiwala, who was from an old Delhi family, and had associated himself with Gandhi from the time he heard him speak at his college, St Stephen’s, in 1919. Brij Krishna now took off Gandhi’s blood-splattered loincloth and gave it to Devadas. The woollen shawl, displaying the three holes through which the bullets had entered, was also handed over to Gandhi’s youngest son. Because of the blood they contained, the clothes stuck to the body; as he wrenched them off, Brij Krishna burst out sobbing.
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