To raise money for the struggle, G. A. Natesan reprinted Polak’s booklet on Gandhi. In December 1913, a rival publisher in Madras, Ganesh and Company, commissioned its own capsule biography of ‘the hero of the Passive Resistance Movement’, its proceeds to go ‘in relief of our brethren in South Africa in their present struggle’.79 And a rising lawyer in Salem, C. Rajagopalachari, reprinted Gandhi’s account of his jail experiences for the same purpose. Rajagopalachari said Gandhi ‘must be ranked with the Avatars’, while his followers, ‘even in these degenerate days, act[ed] like real heroes in the cause of the Nation’. The booklet sold rapidly, so quickly in fact that the lawyer was able to send a cheque for Rs 1,500 to aid the struggle in South Africa.80
The massively enhanced stature of Gandhi in his homeland was most strikingly underlined by a Telugu play in five acts, performed at this time in the Andhra country. The first four acts detail the handicaps of the Indians in South Africa. In the final act Gandhi appears in the flesh and embarks on an extended soliloquy. He reflects on the condition of his compatriots, and on the degradation and humiliation they suffer in the workplace and away from it. The cruelties of the poll-tax and the marriage laws are dwelt upon. The (prosperous) lawyer then asks himself: ‘Am I to live in this mansion while my fellow-brothers and sisters are suffering from untold miseries?’, and provides this answer:
O, Gandhi; O mind of mine! Have no desire for wealth or fame. No more happiness so long as the children of Bharata [India] are in slavery. You shall have no peace until you put an end to the racial hatred that has converted these South Africans into brutes. To achieve this you do not require the strength of the sword … Truth is your existence. Your colour is justice, your name is liberty … Throughout the length and breadth of this sacred land of Bharata one determination is blazing forth in one flame and resounding in one voice. The Lord has sent his message. It is resounding from the craggy Cape Comorin to the snow-peaked Himalayas. No gaols can oppose our determination. The whips cannot cow down our spirits. Even the cannon balls cannot keep our country behind.
Victory to our motherland.
This play was originally published in Telugu in a journal called the Kistna Patrika, and then translated into English and printed afresh in Dublin, from where copies were posted to school and college teachers across South India, to be staged in public. Copies were intercepted by the police; but one copy reached an archive in London, providing the basis of this account. That Gandhi’s struggle could prompt such a passionate rendering in Telugu is remarkable; for in 1913 Gandhi had not been in India for a decade, and he had never visited the Andhra country at all.81
Across the subcontinent, in the holy city of Banaras, protesters burned effigies of Generals Botha and Smuts. In a meeting chaired by the celebrated nationalist leader Madan Mohan Malaviya, a Hindi poet named Pratap read out verses urging patriots to hear the ‘far cry from distant Africa’, where ‘heroes like Gandhi in jail’ were ‘showing the bravery of India to the world’.82
Back in 1910, Gandhi had published Hind Swaraj as a direct response to, and a passionate intervention in, debates on Indian nationalist politics. The book was banned in both its Gujarati and English versions. Even had it been available in India, one wonders how widely it would have been read. It bore the marks of its hasty production; and in a society with such low levels of literacy, there wasn’t much of a market for books in any case. Nonetheless, by 1913 many parts of India were familiar with Gandhi’s name. More Indians read newspapers than books; more still attended or heard of meetings organized in solidarity with the South African protests. That so many of their countrymen had so heroically resisted racial oppression in that faraway land was now known in towns across the subcontinent. Their leader was saluted and celebrated in talks, editorials, reports, poems, and at least one play. This was testimony not so much to the originality of his political ideas as to the vigour of his political practice. Mohandas Gandhi had made a definite impact on the popular consciousness of the motherland; not, however, as the author of an obscure text named Hind Swaraj, but as the chief inspirer of the collective defiance of discriminatory laws and the collective courting of imprisonment by Indians in South Africa.
One of the many ‘indignation meetings’ was held in Gandhi’s place of birth, Porbandar. The princely states had thus far kept out of the national movement. They were insulated from British India, whose political ferment did not affect them. The princes themselves were resolutely loyal to the Raj. But now the residents of Porbandar were moved to act, because some of the satyagrahis in South Africa came from the Kathiawar coast, and because their leader was born and raised in the town. The resolutions passed at this meeting included one praising ‘the inspiring leadership’ of the native son, M. K. Gandhi, and another thanking ‘Major F. de Hancock, our popular administrator for the liberal and munificent State contribution of Rs 1,000 towards the fund [for Indians in South Africa] and for allowing the use of the Victoria Memorial Hall for convening their meeting.’83
In 1888, the British Administrator in Porbandar had refused to pay for Gandhi’s studies in London; now, twenty-five years later, his successor was funding the lawyer-turned-activist’s campaign chest. In this respect, Porbandar was no exception; at other meetings, too, large sums of money were raised and dispatched to Gokhale in Poona. On 28 November, Sonja Schlesin passed on a message from Gandhi to his mentor: ‘He says that you are not to worry yourself about funds. If they did not come, we should manage here somehow.’ Gokhale’s response was to wire £5,000 two days later. On 3 December, a further instalment of £5,000 was sent to Maganlal Gandhi at Phoenix.84
All kinds of people chipped in, some famous, some obscure. In the first category fell the poet Rabindranath Tagore, who had recently been awarded the Nobel Prize for literature. In November, Tagore sent Gokhale Rs 100 as his ‘humble contribution’ to the South African Indian Fund.85 Three weeks later he sent another cheque, apologizing for its niggardly contents. ‘I am ashamed to own that the response has been feeble in Bengal to the call of our countrymen in trouble in South Africa,’ wrote the poet. ‘But I can assure you that my boys’ hearts were moved to genuine sympathy when appealed to and little though these children were able to raise for the fund it was not the less valuable in its moral worth.’86
More surprising than Tagore’s endorsement was that of the Bishop of Madras, a pillar of the Establishment and, of course, an Englishman. ‘I frankly confess,’ remarked the Bishop in December 1913, ‘though it pains me to say it, that I see in Mr Gandhi, the patient sufferer for the cause of righteousness and mercy, a truer representative of the Crucified Saviour, than the men who have thrown him into prison and yet call themselves by the name of Christ.’87
More surprising still was the support for Gandhi and company expressed by the most powerful individual in India, the Viceroy, Lord Hardinge. Also speaking in Madras, he said the passive resisters in South Africa had ‘the deep and burning sympathy of India and also of those who like myself, without being Indian, sympathise with the people of this country’. The Viceroy argued that ‘if the South African Government desires to justify itself in the eyes of India and the world, the only course open to it is to appoint a strong impartial committee, whereon Indian interests will be represented, to conduct the most searching enquiry.’88
There were some less well-known supporters of the struggle too. One A. K. Hariharan sent Rs 250 to Gokhale from Kuala Lumpur, on behalf of ‘the Indians who are employed in Railways and other petty positions in the town’. The ‘Heroes of South Africa’, said this representative of the Indian diaspora, ‘are superior to our adversaries in courage, in devotion, and in knowledge of the wants of the people’. A certain A. E. Lall, manager of a motor agency in the northern town of Peshawar, wrote to Gokhale offering his services. He had previously lived in South Africa, claimed to have ‘known Mr Gandhi intimately’, counting him ‘the best man I have met in any part of the world’.89
Kasturba Gandhi also came in for her share
of praise. In early December, while speaking at a meeting in the Bombay Town Hall, Sir Pherozeshah Mehta recalled the ‘touching episode’ wherein Kasturba told Gandhi that if the court claimed her marriage was illegal, then she would insist on joining the satyagraha. Mehta said that
Mr Gandhi must have known what it was to expose tender women to the hardship of the campaign, but in spite of his pleading, that brave lady decided to cast in her lot with those men who were fighting for the cause. History records the deeds of many heroines and I feel Mrs Gandhi will stand as one of the foremost heroines in the whole world.90
By the end of November 1913, more than 1,000 Indians were in jail. A majority were workers from Natal, punished for going on strike. The others included merchants and hawkers from the Transvaal, and followers, friends and family members of M. K. Gandhi.
Only one letter written by Gandhi from jail has survived. Written to Albert West’s sister, Devi, this asked about the routine of the boys at Phoenix, and told her to ‘remind Dev[a]das of the promises he has made me at various times’. ‘Much of my spare time is being devoted to Tamil study,’ added Gandhi. In this latest satyagraha the Tamils had shone more brightly still, and their leader was, it seems, suitably grateful.
Gandhi’s letter had specific instructions for one resident of Phoenix. This was Jeki Mehta, who had just been released from jail after the expiry of her sentence. Gandhi now wrote to Devi West that
Jekiben should adhere to the promises made by her to me. Please tell her that hardly a day passes when I do not give much thought to her. As to her diet, I do not bind her to any promises or resolutions she may have made. She may take whatever suits her constitution. But she must not only keep good health but be robust. She must grow her hair unless she has definitely heard otherwise from Dr. Mehta.91
Meanwhile, unknown to Gandhi, Jeki Mehta was the subject of angry letters written to the Government of South Africa by her estranged husband, Manilal Doctor. This other Manilal was now in Fiji, having shifted there from Mauritius. He had set up practice as a barrister in Suva, servicing the town’s Indian residents. When rumours of what his wife had been up to with his namesake Manilal Gandhi reached him, Doctor wrote to the Governor-General, Lord Gladstone, asking that he arrange for Jeki to be sent to Fiji. The message was passed on, but Jeki declined to go. She wanted to remain with the satyagraha in South Africa.
His wife’s refusal to join him infuriated Manilal Doctor. He wrote once more to Lord Gladstone, suggesting that if Jeki courted arrest again, the sentence should be deportation, ‘in which case there would be greater chances of her cure from Mr Gandhi’s influences and therefore of settling down to a stable life with me here’. He was willing to pay the expenses of his wife’s travel to Fiji.
Since Gandhi was in jail, Manilal Doctor could not communicate with him directly. So he asked the Governor-General to tell him that
my wife’s father and I myself desire her to leave his place and that he would spare me the painful necessity of taking legal steps against himself and his son Manilal Gandhi for intercepting the smooth flow of my married life in the way they have in fact done. Allow me to add that my wife is a minor, I am legally her guardian, and that Mr Gandhi is no relation at all to us.92
Manilal Doctor certainly spoke for himself. But did he also speak for Pranjivan Mehta, who was his father-in-law, but also Gandhi’s closest and oldest friend? Alas, the archives are silent on the matter. Dr Mehta could not have been pleased with Jeki’s affair with Gandhi’s son Manilal – but would he have laid the blame for this at Gandhi’s own door? That seems unlikely. Jeki herself seems to have been unwilling to rejoin her husband. She was focused on staying in South Africa – but whether out of admiration for Gandhi’s politics or love for Gandhi’s son we cannot say.
In the second week of December, the South African Government announced that it would set up an ‘Indian Enquiry Commission’ to report on the recent disturbances and their causes. In his speech in Madras in late November, the Viceroy of India had called for such a commission. The Viceroy’s idea had now been taken forward by Lord Gladstone, the Governor-General of South Africa. For the protests by the Indians had been unprecedented in scope and scale. They had breached the boundaries of province, class and gender. They had fully stretched the forces of law and order, and had seriously endangered the economy of Natal. Despite brave talk in the newspapers, whites were not really prepared to labour in mines, plantations, hotels or shops. Gladstone thus suggested to General Smuts that the Commission should go into the marriage and tax questions that had so exercised the Indians.93
Smuts agreed. A three-member Commission was appointed, to be chaired by the jurist Sir William Solomon. As a gesture to the Indians, Gandhi was released from jail on the morning of 18 December. Polak and Kallenbach were set free the same day. At a public meeting in Johannesburg, Gandhi said he was not satisfied with the constitution of the Enquiry Commission. Sir William Solomon was fine, but the other two members, Lt.-Col. Wylie and Edward Esselen, were known to have anti-Indian views. Gandhi said that ‘rather than have a weighted or packed Commission, which would militate against the welfare of the Indian community in South Africa, he would prefer to go back to prison and allow the Indian case to stand upon its own merits.’ In response, William Hosken ‘begged’ Gandhi to retain his ‘self-control’, and ‘to do nothing that would bring discredit on their cause’.94
The next day, Gandhi proceeded by train to Durban. As he stepped on to the platform on arrival, ‘flowers were thrown round him, and the Indians clambered around him’. He was conveyed from the station into an open carriage, which was pulled by young men ‘through the streets with every manifestation of enthusiasm’.95
It was a triumphant return to his first home in South Africa, but also a sombre one. In jail, Gandhi had shaved his head and chosen to wear white. His feet were bare. Speaking to a crowd of 5,000 assembled at the Durban racecourse, Gandhi said he had changed his dress when he heard of the police firing on Indian strikers. The bullets that shot his countrymen shot him through the heart as well. Henceforth, he would dress like an indentured labourer. Then he spoke of the Commission just appointed. He complained that Indians had no voice, while two of its three members were known for their hostility to them. Unless ‘the Commission is supplemented by responsible South African members of known standing, who are not prejudiced against Asiatics generally,’ he said, ‘we shall certainly be against it’.96
On 21 December, Gandhi wrote to Smuts suggesting the addition of two members to the Commission. W. P. Schreiner and Sir James-Innes were both known for their liberal views. Smuts rejected the suggestion, insisting that the Commission as it stood was ‘impartial and judicious’. Gandhi now said the Indians would boycott the Commission.
The composition of the Enquiry Commission angered the rank-and-file even more. ‘The Government have treated us in such a rascally manner in the appointment of this Commission,’ wrote Henry Polak to his family in England, adding, ‘I fear that it will be impossible to avoid a revival of the struggle in its most bitter form.’ In that case Polak would court arrest once more, for which he asked in advance for the ‘sympathy and understanding’ of his parents. The senior Polaks admired and liked Gandhi, but as loyalist, assimilationist Jews, they were naturally not very keen for their son to follow him all the way into jail. ‘Whatever the consequences may be both personally and publicly,’ wrote Henry Polak to his parents, ‘I feel I am bound to support Mr Gandhi in his present attitude, of which I wholly approve. It may not be customary politics, but the Passive Resistance struggle has never been based upon politics but upon principles.’97
Speaking to reporters on 21 December, L. W. Ritch claimed that if their demands were not conceded, the Indians would once more go on strike. ‘Mr Gandhi will collect all the Indians who follow him,’ said Ritch, ‘and will march to Pretoria’, the march to commence on 1 January. Ritch predicted that Gandhi ‘would leave Durban with a thousand Indians, and by the time he reached the bo
rder, if he does so, his “army” will increase to at least 20,000’.98
The next day Kasturba Gandhi was released from prison. Gandhi had come up from Durban to Maritzburg to meet her. The Indians of the town had preceded him. They met Kasturba and her fellow prisoners outside the jail and pulled them in a flower-strewn carriage through the streets. At the meeting that followed, the speakers included Gandhi, Kallenbach and Millie Polak. Millie said that
this was essentially a women’s movement, and there was no question that had it not been for the women taking the lead, there would have been no strike. When women once realized the enormous power they had they would rise up and make their own lives and the world what they wished (loud applause).99
Kasturba and her comrades had spent eight weeks in jail. Unfortunately, whereas Gandhi wrote in much detail of his various prison terms, his wife left no record of her ordeal. How did she cope with this radically new experience? Since her fellow satyagrahis included her nephews’ wives, at least she had some people to speak Gujarati with. In other respects life would have been altogether different, and much harder, than what she had been accustomed to in Porbandar, Rajkot, Johannesburg and Phoenix. The food in South African jails was uniformly bad. As a vegetarian, Kasturba had to make do with the terrible mealie pap. Her sentence also included ‘hard labour’, which took the form of washing clothes in the prison courtyard.100
Millie Polak saluted Kasturba’s spirit; her husband, meanwhile, was shocked at the state of her health. ‘Mrs Gandhi discharged prison almost irrecognisably altered owing refusal special diet’, Polak wired Gokhale. ‘Reduced skeleton tottering appearance old woman heart breaking sight.’101
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