Internal enemies had to be eliminated if India was to face the danger to its frontiers. These were gravely imperilled during the late spring and early summer of 1942, when a war on two fronts seemed a possibility. Rommel’s breakthrough in North Africa and continued advances into southern Russia forced India’s high command to consider a Wehrmacht attack from the Middle East or through Afghanistan. Twenty new airfields were built in eastern Persia and Baluchistan (on the borders of the troubled Sind) in preparation for a land offensive which, if it materialised, was expected early in 1943.60 And then there were the Japanese, whose offensive from the east had been momentarily halted by the monsoon and transport shortages, but was expected to be renewed in October. One danger had, however, been removed; in June the Japanese Navy had suffered a crushing defeat at the hands of the Americans at the battle of Midway, and what was left of its ships were engaged in the struggle for Guadalcanal during August. There were none to spare for those amphibious operations against India which had been a major source of anxiety to the Viceroy and his military staff.61
The external threat coincided with an internal one. Watching events from Berlin, Bose was confidently predicting an uprising in India in the wake of the collapse of the Cripps initiative. ‘The unrest has been gathering in volume and intensity and will, before long, reach the boiling point,’ he told a press conference on 12 June.62
The timing, extent and nature of the upheaval depended upon Congress and, above all, Gandhi. From April to July he was preparing for a campaign of civil disobedience which, he promised foreign newspapermen on 15 July, would be the biggest yet. His objective was the immediate departure of the British from India, an act, he sincerely believed, that would remove the threat of a Japanese invasion. So long as the British remained, the Japanese would be tempted to attack India. ‘The very novelty of the British stroke will confound the Japanese,’ he said with unintentional irony, and ‘dissolve hatred against the British’.63 If the Japanese belligerency did not evaporate in the face of this amazing gesture, and Gandhi was never sure that it would, Indians would have to oppose them non-violently. Just what this might entail, he revealed at the beginning of April:
. . . the resisters may find that the Japanese are utterly heartless and that they do not care how many they kill. The non-violent resisters will have won the day inasmuch as they will have preferred extermination to submission.64
Gandhi had become utterly careless with the lives of his countrymen. On 14 May he told a News Chronicle journalist that the British would have to ‘leave India in God’s hands, but in modern parlance to anarchy, and that anarchy may lead to internecine warfare for a time or to unrestrained dacoities’. ‘From these,’ he added, ‘a true India will rise in the place of the false one we see,’ which no doubt would comfort the survivors.65 Alternately beset by Japanese, dacoits and British tax gatherers, Indians might, he conceded, have to defend themselves. For this purpose, he recommended ‘gymnastics, drill, lathi play and the like’.66 All that mattered for Gandhi was that the British left India; the future could take care of itself.
This was the irresponsibility of a man for whom every other consideration was subordinate to a single aim: the emancipation of India on his own terms. Nothing else mattered, least of all the reality of the war being waged outside India. He must have known the human costs of a brief spell of anarchy to the ordinary people of the Sind – his own journal, Harijan, had described them in some detail.67 It is also hard to believe that he was unaware of the horrendous massacres of hundreds of thousands of unresisting civilians by the Japanese army in China. Perhaps, and this is a generous explanation, Gandhi could never comprehend the mindset of those who were masterminding the Axis war effort. A less generous but more plausible interpretation of his increasingly facile utterances was that he and Congress had got themselves into what Linlithgow imagined to be a ‘desperate position’.68 Gandhi was seventy-three and his personal vision of Indian salvation and freedom was as far as ever from being fulfilled. He was also aware that Bose (whom he promised to resist if he ever attempted to set up a Quisling régime) and the Forward Bloc were also bidding for popular support.69 Congress’s rank and file supporters were becoming impatient and he had, therefore, to keep them in the fold through a fresh effort of unprecedented intensity.
Speaking in secret to a meeting of Gujarat Congressmen, Gandhi revealed that he was contemplating a new campaign of civil disobedience in retaliation for Britain’s refusal to heed his summons to withdraw. What was said found its way on to the Viceroy’s desk, thanks to the interception of a letter from a Communist who was present. A massive and thorough intelligence operation was soon in hand to discover the nature of and timetable for the forthcoming campaign, so that counter-measures could be prepared. On 27 May, Linlithgow reported to London that ‘secret sources’ had revealed to him the overall political thrust of Gandhi’s plans, and during the following weeks details of how they would be translated into action were gradually uncovered.70 There was close CID surveillance of Congress officials, interception of correspondence, penetration of private meetings and seizure of documents.71
On 31 July, Madras CID carried out an intelligence coup by securing a vital secret paper, drawn up three days before, which described the organisation and phases of the resistance programme. This followed well-established lines in the first phases, with token infractions of minor laws, withdrawal of co-operation at all levels of government, boycotts and strikes. Stages five and six were novel and contrived to hamper the war effort: disruption of trains, cutting telegraph and telephone lines, withholding rents and taxes and picketing soldiers.72 Participants were cautioned not to undertake any activity which might endanger life, but in the past such warnings had not been heeded. Linlithgow interpreted the document as an invitation to sabotage, and it was accepted as such when it was presented to the War Cabinet on 6 August. Its contents and tenor swayed Cripps and his Labour colleague Aneurin Bevan, both of whom had hitherto been very sympathetic to Congress.73
As it collected intelligence, the Indian government used some of it to influence opinion in America. It was considerably assisted by some of Gandhi’s statements. What, for instance, could Americans make of his drawing attention to ‘racial discrimination’ and ‘lynch law’ in their country?74 Or how would they react to his promise not to oppose the Japanese and repeated claims that he could discern no moral difference between the Allies and the Axis powers? Linlithgow saw his opportunity and instructed his official agent in Washington to brief American pressmen to the effect that Gandhi was either suffering senile decay, or had unthinkingly allowed himself to become a ‘tool’ of the Axis.75 Likewise, Amery asked Lord Halifax, the Ambassador in Washington, to prepare Roosevelt and American opinion for the ‘drastic measures’ that the Indian government would be driven to take to frustrate Gandhi and protect the war effort.76
The burden of enforcing these ‘drastic measures’ would fall heaviest on the police. During the first two years of the war the total number of police had risen from 191,000 to just over 222,000, of whom a half were armed with rifles.77 In the final week of July, Linlithgow approached each provincial governor for an assessment of police morale. The results were, on the whole, encouraging. In Bengal and the United Provinces, Madras policemen, like everyone else, were feeling the pinch as prices rose, and in the Central Provinces some constables were anxious about ‘victimisation’ in the event of post-war independence.78 Only in Bihar was there any apprehension, since the province was a Congress stronghold and in rural districts scattered policemen were vulnerable to social pressure. Morale would stay high if officers were assured that the government was ready to act firmly.79 It was; on 18 July a signal was sent to all British army and air force units, ordering them to be on stand-by to assist the civil power.80
On the last day of July, Linlithgow could feel satisfied that whatever action Congress decided to take, the government was prepared. Within a few weeks he would be facing what, with good reason, he described
as the largest and most determined insurrection faced by the Raj since 1857. This time it knew what to expect and was ready, thanks to its intelligence services.
6
An Occupied and
Hostile Country: India
at War, August 1942 –
August 1945
I
After several months of debate and prevarication and not without severe misgivings among its members, the All-India Congress Committee took the plunge on 8 August. It invited the British to ‘Quit India’ and, correctly guessing what the response would be, called on its supporters to make the country ungovernable. Early the next day, Gandhi, Nehru and most of Congress’s leadership were arrested and interned. Within the next fortnight thousands of local activitists were corralled, offices raided, files seized and party funds sequestered. The more important detainees were well-treated: Gandhi was held in the Aga Khan’s palace at Poona and Babu Sri Krishna Sinha, the former prime minister of Bihar, was allowed a daily massage with coconut oil.1 Others were not so fortunate.
The government had snatched the initiative and, caught off balance, Congress accused it of a pre-emptive strike. The old axiom that the Raj moved swiftly and decisively against its enemies had been revived and there was applause from some quarters. Major-General Sir John Kennedy, director of military operations at the War Office, welcomed Linlithgow’s decision to use aircraft against railway saboteurs as ‘an exhilarating departure from precedent’.2 The left-wing weekly Tribune sensed that the Raj was returning to its old ways, claiming on 14 August that: ‘The Imperial lion has roused itself, invoking the Spirit of Clive and of Hastings and Dyer, he roars again.’ Such criticism was rare; on the whole the British press praised the Viceroy’s action as well-timed and necessary. Japan was the only beneficiary of Gandhi’s plans, argued the Spectator, which likened the Mahatma to another mischief-maker then in detention, Sir Oswald Mosley.3 On the evening of the day of the arrests, Leo Amery broadcast on the BBC Empire service and to the United States. He reminded listeners of how Congress’s proposed campaign would injure the Allied war effort: ‘No worse stab in the back could be devised to all the gallant men, Indian or British, American or Chinese, now engaged on Indian soil in the task of defending India.’ The government had had no choice but to ‘cut the fuse leading from the arch-saboteurs to all the inflammable and explosive material which they hoped to set alight all over India’. Cabinet unity over Indian policy was reflected a week after when the Labour MP, Arthur Greenwood, told Americans that Gandhi’s actions embarrassed the Allies and seriously damaged India’s future chances of securing freedom.4
Tribune had been right in its depiction of the awakened imperial lion. Its roar was heard and its claws felt during the next three months wherever Indians defied the government. Just before his arrest Gandhi had called on his followers to ‘go out to die not to live’ and, aware that Congress’s superstructure was about to be swept away, urged every demonstrator to become his or her own leader.5 From the start, he knew that it would be impossible for the movement to be directed or synchronised from above, although the resourceful Congress leaders in Delhi had procured loudspeaker equipment beforehand. They used it to broadcast the news of Gandhi’s arrest in the streets on 9 August, in what turned out to be the prelude to over a week of riots, attacks on Europeans and damage to government and railway property. The pattern was much the same across the country. Hartals disrupted the distribution of food and caused shortages in the larger cities. Crowds gathered, clashed with the police and assaulted anybody or anything which represented authority. Revenue offices and police stations were the favourite targets for assaults and arson, and, most alarmingly in wartime, stations and signal boxes were burned. Railway tracks were torn up and telegraph and telephone lines torn down.
The threat to the transport of troops and war supplies was so great that on 14 August the RAF was ordered to fly sorties against crowds that threatened railway lines running across the eastern United Provinces and northern Bihar. Blenheim and Hudson bomber crews were instructed to fly low over the crowds, warn them that they meant business by firing Verey flares and then, if they had not scattered, spray them with machine-gun fire. Details of the measures and their application were to be kept secret. During the next fortnight a series of missions were flown and crowds of saboteurs were dispersed with fire, but there were no sightings of casualties. There were, however, signs of defiance: a mob looting trucks on the Katihar–Muzaffar line hurled stones at the aircraft, as did a small party caught damaging a bridge near Gilak.6 One Blenheim crash-landed and two of its crew were murdered by a Bihari mob.7 No one was certain how many were killed as a result of these aerial attacks, and Congress later claimed that there had been losses in Nilgiri (Tamil Nadhu) and Talcher, where it was alleged tear-gas bombs had been dropped.8
Strafing crowds was a signal of the government’s determination to keep the upper hand come what may and by every possible means. The war had considerably increased its resources, with 35,000 British troops available to support the civil authorities and police. These reinforcements represented a substantial section of a strategic reserve that might well be needed to defend the frontier if, as was expected, the Japanese re-opened their offensive when the monsoon ended. This gave roughly six weeks in which to contain if not completely overcome the insurgents. Detachments of troops, often in penny packets, were dispersed across the disaffected areas, guarding lines of communications, public buildings and military stores. Others were rushed to areas where the police were hard pressed or had temporarily lost control. When fire had to be opened, shots were to be directed into the ground so that they would ricochet through the crowds.9 Airmen were ordered to be ready to defend their bases with pepper bombs, lathis and fire hoses. ‘In the case of women lying on the runways, rumour has it that by ordering airmen to lie down side by side with the woman this form of resistance is normally broken up.’10 British troops undertook their duties with characteristic phlegm and good humour, although many were angered by atrocities, notably the burning alive of the wives and children of policemen. The Tommies’ reputation for toughness was as strong as ever, and crowds prudently chose not to tangle with them.11 Nonetheless, during the Delhi riots a few bold slogan shouters mockingly referred to the recent British defeat in Malaya. Indian soldiers were untouched by the agitation and the police were steadfast; there were only 216 desertions during the uprising.12 Interestingly, some Congress supporters imagined that United States servicemen would be deployed against the demonstrators, although Roosevelt had ordered them to keep out of the troubles.
Loyalty below was matched by resolution at the top. Linlithgow never wavered from performing what he saw as his duty and this, above all, was to secure a tranquil India in which the war effort could proceed unhindered. ‘I am engaged here in meeting by far the most serious rebellion since that of 1857,’ he told Churchill on 31 August, ‘the gravity and extent of which we have so far concealed from the world for reasons of military security . . . Mob violence remains rampant over large tracts of the countryside,’ he continued, ‘and I am by no means confident that we may not see in September a formidable effort to renew this widespread sabotage of our war effort.’13 Churchill was at his most adamantine and could not conceal his pleasure in at last getting Congress ‘on the run’.14 He made clear his position on the uprising and India in general with a famous declaration: ‘. . . we mean to hold our own. I have not become the King’s first minister in order to preside over the liquidation of the British Empire.’ Tory backbenchers were solidly behind him, which explains their cheers when the question of bombing Indian rioters was raised in the Commons on 8 October.15 This was regrettable but understandable. Britain was embattled and suffering regular air raids; its armed forces had still not gained mastery in the Atlantic or in North Africa; and the news from Russia was grim as the Germans pressed deeper into the Caucasus. Everywhere the Allied battle line was fragile, and India was imperilled by the Germans to the west and north-west and Jap
anese in the east. At the moment of crisis, the war effort was further jeopardised by a humbug who placed Congress’s political ambitions before an Allied victory and simultaneously claimed he was a true friend of Britain. As well as dealing with the Indian crisis, the War Cabinet found itself having to fend off American criticism and the meddling of the warlord-turned-Chinese-Nationalist-leader, Chiang Kai-shek, who, for the past few months, had been offering gratuitous advice on Indian affairs.
Comparisons with the 1857 Mutiny were deceptive. In 1942 the Raj had been forewarned of the trouble and its machinery of coercion was already in place. Intelligence of Congress’s intentions had been vital and, once the disturbances were under way, police raids on Congress offices yielded further details of its tactics in the provinces. By 19 August the local CID had obtained all the plans for disruption throughout the United Provinces. This and the interception of mail threw Congress activists on to their own devices and made co-ordination difficult, but not impossible. As events unfolded, they were often surprised by the extent to which undercover CID men and informers had penetrated their organisation at every level.16
Being forewarned did not always mean that the authorities were forearmed. On 14 August the police at Chimur heard that Congress agents were preparing for an attack on the police station two days later. The leaders were immediately arrested, but this did not prevent crowds from assembling on the arranged day. The local inspector warned them to disperse and was murdered by the mob, leaving his thirteen subordinates outnumbered and terrified into inactivity. Later, the rioters burned alive two Indian magistrates and set fire to official buildings, including a school. Order was restored on the 20th by police reinforcements and a detachment of the Green Howards. Afterwards, the police and soldiers were accused of various outrages, including rape, but here and elsewhere such politically-motivated charges were as easy to make as they were hard to prove or disprove.17
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