Then there were those poor souls who had no idea where they should go to relieve themselves; where, how and what they had to do for food; whom they should ask when they didn’t have a blanket; and who thought it wrong to ask or ‘complain’ about these things. Brother, we’re working for the Congress, is it really that much of a problem if you have to burden yourself a little . . .
And there were those who, because they had put on uniforms, felt entitled to do all the things they had seen the white soldiers or the police doing and which had made them fill up with hatred and impotent rage—threatening passers-by, suspecting a poor person of something and therefore insulting and harassing him, et cetera . . . According to them, not exercising these entitlements amounted to turning the ‘soldier’ into a cripple since there would be no reason for him to be here if it was enough just to fold one’s hands and flatter someone . . .
Then there were certain visiting delegates (and their entourages) who had paid the rent for the tent and therefore turned the whole group of assembled volunteers into their servants—at all hours of the day, they would say, ‘My stomach hurts, I need a volunteer to warm some compresses’; ‘I have a fever, I need two volunteers to be by my side all night’; ‘I’m having indigestion, send a volunteer to clean the toilet’ . . .
Even if such requests were legitimate, they should still have been taken to a doctor who was responsible for the appropriate remedies for any ailment; but upon saying such things, every volunteer—or just Shekhar—would be reminded: a volunteer must make it his religion not to look down upon such requests—‘Do you know that while he was in Africa, Mahatma Gandhi cleaned toilets himself? And you’re not more important than he is—’
And then there were certain volunteer officers whose worthiness was not based on their abilities, but rather on the influence of their friends; such people had no shortage of things to do, but they still came to the camp though to not engage in dialogue with fools. The fellow who was supposed to relieve the volunteers from their post would go around twice during the day and relieve people, but in the evening, after supper, he found it disagreeable to leave his place and return to camp in the bitter cold of January, so often the volunteer on duty in the evening would be left standing there after dark because no one came to relieve him . . . After 11 p.m. Shekhar would start receiving messages, ‘Volunteer so-and-so has been on duty for five hours, no one has come to relieve him’, ‘Volunteer so-and-so has been out for six hours, he’s soaked through in the rain’, ‘I’ve been standing here for eight hours, I got someone to stand in for me so I could come here; if you’ll send another volunteer, I can show him where to go’ . . .
There was a lot of work for Shekhar to do. He would come into his office under the tent at 6 a.m. and sit on a stool. At 2 p.m. and at 10 p.m. his Pathan ‘orderly’20 would have to argue with him until he got him to eat somehow. He’d also bring him his tea once a day. At 12 a.m., Shekhar would leave camp, demoralized from the complaints and think, ‘I should go around once to see who has been out and for how long, so that I can sleep worry-free . . .’ But there was another problem for him—replacements could only be made by the officer in charge of replacements, Shekhar didn’t have the authority, so when the volunteers didn’t come by themselves he would send one of the volunteers he was in charge of who had been sent to him to help manage the camp . . .
He would get back to his tent at 2 a.m., and without loosening his uniform or taking off his shoes he would fall down on to his bedding, spread out over straw . . . Not taking off his shoes was for the best since a tent housing eleven men had barely enough space for him to lie down and spread his legs—his heavy shoes and thick socks were his real lifesavers . . .
Discipline—discipline—discipline—one day, exhausted from chasing after discipline night and day, Shekhar sinned gravely against that very discipline.
In the tent for college students, groups of people had been found gambling a few times. The first time, Shekhar merely confiscated the dice and gave them a warning: that this was unseemly behaviour and shouldn’t happen again. The second time, in addition to confiscating the cards and the money that had been wagered, he made them perform their drills. The third time, he kicked the three individuals out of the camp and had a notice circulated throughout the camp that gamblers would be removed from the volunteer corps.
The hard workers would complete their assignments—as they never had occasion to gamble—but they were also the ones ground down by the mercy of the assignment officer so that even when they had spare time they could do nothing but collapse on their backs. But the college students didn’t do any work, and if they ever fell into the clutches of the assignment officer (and even he didn’t disturb their liberties because how could he maintain his own unfettered freedoms once he had upset the group which raised the loudest cry of them all?) and were sent on assignment, they would immediately leave their posts, ‘My friend, this is such dreadful work—guarding the streets. Is someone going to come and steal the street?’ This group had a lot of free time, so each time Shekhar admonished them, it was fruitless.
The fourth time a group got caught gambling, two of the members of that group turned out to have participated in the previous three incidents, so Shekhar thought it necessary to enact more serious consequences.
The bugle sounded for assembly. The volunteers who were present in the camp stood in formation in the space that had been left empty for the parade drills. From their faces, one could tell that they were surprised to hear the bugle sound in the afternoon because who knew what hardship was about to fall on them all . . .
Shekhar gave the order to stand ‘at ease’ to the men in formation and stood under the flagpole. He said, ‘Volunteers, you have been called here for a necessary announcement. It’s an embarrassment to this camp that a group of people have been caught gambling here four times. The first time—’ and Shekhar listed in succession the names of the individuals involved in each of the four incidents and the first three punishments delivered. ‘The fourth time, three of them were first offenders, and they will be given the same punishment that was given out last time, but for two of them, this is their fourth time being caught gambling. It is clear that the last punishment was not enough for them; rather talk of any punishment appears to be a waste.’
He stopped momentarily. He looked all around. His pause had an effect.
‘The only solution is that we regretfully find these volunteers are not worthy of their uniforms.’
Stopping again for a moment, ‘—Three steps forward—march!’
The two of them stepped forward. Shekhar said to his ‘orderly’,21 ‘Bring their things out here.’
The orderly brought their things—their bedding, small luggage.
‘The two of you need to take off your uniforms. Put your own clothes on.’
The two of them gave Shekhar one look of contempt, but the perfect stillness which had fallen over the entire parade ground made them yield. They quietly changed their clothes.
‘Pick up your things—about face! March, leader, show these men out of the camp.’
The footfalls of three pairs of feet—thud, thud, thud—could be heard . . . Shekhar was listening to them but was looking at the remaining volunteers and thinking to himself, ‘If they had refused to obey, what would I have done?’
All at once, three men from the ranks stepped forward. All three were college students—Shekhar had seen them before. They knew him, too.
‘What is it?’
‘You have no right to take away their uniforms. We are opposed to this. You have insulted the students from the college—we’re going to protest.’
This was not a time to show indecisiveness. Shekhar said, ‘Volunteers, those of you who think that it is an insult to put an end to gambling, please step forward three paces.’
Three individuals stepped forward. It was as if their brazenness spoke for them, ‘We despise your rules.’
‘All right. You all want to break discipl
ine. You can. All six of you can take your uniforms off. Orderly, gather their uniforms in a pile.’
Their momentary hesitation was a signal to Shekhar that discipline had won. He said, ‘Those of you who will follow the rules are welcome to return to their places.’
Four men stepped back.
‘And you two—do you still want to break discipline?’
‘We want to appeal to the general. We—’
‘You only get an appeal after you’ve been punished. But you definitely can. Return to your places.’
The ranks were dismissed. As he returned to his office quietly, Shekhar thought that he hadn’t wanted to escalate the conflict, but what alternative was left? And it wasn’t as though he had done anything inappropriate . . .
He had just sat down in his office when he was summoned—the general wanted him.
Shekhar went over, stood at attention, clicked his heels and gave a salute. The general was sitting on a mattress in his tent. There were two high-ranking party workers with him.
‘Come, come, sit—don’t be so formal.’
Shekhar stood as he was.
‘These two have some complaints.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘What’s all this about?’
In his summary, Shekhar included mention of the four incidents of gambling and the events of that day. He continued, ‘These people have an objection to my decision.’
The general turned towards the plaintiffs and said, ‘Look, brothers, it’s wrong to play dice, so those who play should be punished.’
‘We aren’t talking about that. But it is completely unacceptable that two college students were publicly humiliated. There are several uneducated rustics amongst the volunteers. What must they be thinking? We didn’t come here to be insulted like this. If you won’t intervene, then all of us will—’
Now the general turned to Shekhar and said, ‘Look, brother, it’s only a matter of ten or fifteen days. We’ve got to come together and get through this. What’s the use in getting someone upset? We have to get by.’
Shekhar couldn’t let this go. He bit his lip in anger and said, ‘Get by? Is that what you want, to get by? Then why all of these uniforms, all of this organization, all of these ranks? Why are you sitting there wearing a uniform with golden epaulettes and a sword attached? Why do we perform these drills? Why do we blow that bugle? The old village councils were better than this. All I know is that you need discipline to have an organization. I don’t think that my decision was wrong. You can overturn it—that’s up to you.’
The general was unprepared for this outburst. He said, ‘You seem very angry.’
‘No, I know exactly what I’m doing. I know that if we had the kind of discipline that I want, I’d be suffering the same punishment that I have doled out to these gamblers. But if that were to happen, I wouldn’t have had to show up here. You can get by however you please. I couldn’t care less about that. I’ll take your leave.’
Shekhar was about to leave when a fellow, wearing pure khadi, sitting next to the general, said, ‘But this goes against our principle of non-violence.’
Shekhar turned around. Angrily, he said, ‘What?’
‘To humiliate two men like this and cause them pain is violence. Our volunteer corps is non-violent.’
Shekhar was speechless for a moment. He wanted to burst out laughing and go away. Then, regaining control of himself, he said, ‘The answer to your question will also be violence.’ And then he left. When he got outside, he happily remembered that a few days ago he was given an opportunity to join the general’s security detail on account of his height—the members of that detail didn’t have to do any work, except for every two or three days when the honourable general went out somewhere with his entourage, they would have to march in front and behind him carrying spinning wheels on their shoulders as if they were Lewis guns.22 He had turned down that opportunity then. Had he not done so, would he have been able to forgive himself today? . . .
Nothing came of it. The people who had been kicked out weren’t asked to return, although they were given their uniforms back because they had paid for them. Aside from a few officers, who only did paperwork and never showed up, everyone else was opposed to overturning Shekhar’s decision.
The student rebellion that was going to happen didn’t. To create an unnecessary conflict and cause a commotion and to watch a free spectacle in the confusion—this wasn’t their objective!
*
It was almost 9 p.m. By evening a thick fog had descended. It had begun to dissolve because it had started raining. Shekhar had put on an overcoat23 and was standing at the gate to the camp watching people prepare to go to work and he thought to himself, ‘The complaints will start coming in soon—“No one came to relieve of me of my duty”—who knows why the people responsible for the watch can’t make adequate arrangements . . .’
To the left, there was a commotion near the statue of the dead leader who was this city’s namesake. Shekhar tried very hard to listen; the commotion was getting louder and coming towards him. He took big strides and set off in its direction.
Three or four days ago the police had raided the camp—after searching the entire camp, they had left empty-handed. Ever since then, the mood in the Congress encampment had been a little tense—the volunteers suspected each person who looked strange, wore a black coat, had a long moustache, wore a turban with a plume, wore shoes and socks or held a cane in his hand of being an agent of the secret police. There was no threat from the secret police, nor was there a prohibition. But since the volunteers felt that this was inappropriate meddling, and because exposing spies was a natural human tendency, the volunteers would routinely tussle with such men and sometimes bring them to the camp’s headquarters.
Five or six volunteers had just apprehended such an individual and were dragging him back with them. He was cursing at them and kept trying to free himself, but he was dragged along.
Shekhar approached and barked out, ‘Who is this? Let him go! What’s the problem?’
‘He’s a CID, CID!’24
‘He’s a thief! A thief! He was trying to get away!’
‘Congress rule is no joke, you fool.’
Ignoring all of these replies, Shekhar broke in, ‘Let him go!’ The volunteers let him go and stood to one side. ‘Who apprehended him? What’s the problem?’
‘He was walking by himself near the statue. I asked him what he was doing there and he told me to mind my own business. I told him it was my business to guard the statue and that if he didn’t have any business here that he should move along. He said, “I know your type, you watchmen.” When I told him once again to leave and asked him for his name and address, he cursed at me. We caught him and were bringing him back to camp but more people showed up in the commotion, a couple of men even slapped him.’
Shekhar asked the man who was dusting himself off, ‘Is that what happened?’
‘I am a CID inspector. The men have disrespected me and have interfered with my work. I am to see each of them punished.’
‘If you had just said at the beginning that you were a CID inspector, do you think you would have been insulted? These men are supposed to watch out for thieves or crooks. You have to agree that your behaviour was suspicious. Look, you are free to go. Please accept my apologies for your inconvenience.’ Shekhar turned to the volunteers, ‘You men have needlessly humiliated a respectable man. Those of you who hit him should apologize and will be punished back at camp. Two of you should take this man out of the camp, respectfully.’
‘I don’t need these bastards,’ he said and then started off in one direction.
‘It’s for your own protection so that it doesn’t happen again.’
Two volunteers followed him.
The guard had changed. Shekhar thought that while he was out, he would make a circuit through the township and see where the guard hadn’t been changed so that he could do something about it.
Shekhar was startled
to learn that because of the rain, some men had abandoned their posts after completing their shifts without being relieved and had returned to camp to find their replacements to send them to their posts. There was only a day left in the Congress session—only three days left for the camp—which is why he decided that it wasn’t worth it to ask too many questions about all this. And besides, the men had enough good sense to go and find and send their replacements. He remembered what the general had said about ‘getting by’ and smiled.
It began to rain harder. Shekhar sped up.
As he approached the statue, he heard someone singing.
‘Where are you, Krishna of the flute . . .’
And then a little haltingly as if he were experimenting with something new.
‘Where are you, Mohan my replacement . . .’
The singer stopped when he heard the sound of Shekhar’s boots. Shekhar saw the watchman eyeing him intently.
Shekhar asked, ‘Is this your first shift?’
‘No, sir.’
‘How long have you been at it?’
‘Since 3 p.m.—’
‘Three? And no one came to relieve you at 6?’
‘No, sir. The person who was supposed to replace me told me he had to go somewhere and asked me to cover for him. I agreed.’
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