CHAPTER 9
Bains, the Collector, sat in a high backed chair in his office in the Collectorate of Hoshangabad. This large but unpretentious building, single storeyed, with its walls covered in buff plaster, looked out on the river Narmada which flowed below the headland on which it stood. The union jack fluttered from a flag staff over the Collector’s chamber. The open compound of the sprawling building was thronged with people, mostly peasants and cultivators who could be easily identified by their rural dress, their yellow or saffron turbans and their crude leather moccasin. These sturdy rural folk flocked around sheds in which sat typists, notaries, petition writers and of course lawyers. Macgregor the SP and Cartwright the Assistant Collector’s chamber, sitting on a sofa in one corner of the large room, waiting for the Collector to finish receiving petitioners so that they could discuss other matters with him.
“Look at this fellow, thinks the world of himself,” whispered the SP to Cartwright, as a gentleman was ushered in. “He is Pratap Chaturvedi, the Brahmin lawyer who wants to be a member of the club.”
Chaturvedi was tall and dignified. He greeted the Collector respectfully without being obsequious.
“Well Mr Chaturvedi, how is the Kharif crop this year?” The Collector was anxious about the crow which was the mainstay of the subsistence farmers of this district.
“Good so far, but if it doesn’t rain for another two weeks, I am afraid we will have a crop failure and a draught.”
“Humm… there are still three weeks to go before the end of September, I think it will rain before then, it usually does.”
“I hope so sir. I certainly hope so.”
“Well, what has brought you here Mr. Charturvedi.”
“It’s the meeting sir, the meeting which Mahatma Gandhi will address.”
“Yes?”
“We want to hold it in the College grounds, but there is a faction in the party which believes that the crowed will be too large for the ground. So they want to hold the meeting in the police ground.”
“NO, no, no! not the police ground. It is never given out for political meetings,” said the SP, speaking out from the sofa. “We don’t want to set a bad precedent.”
“Well, I would not say that it would set a bad precedent. It may be unprecedented, I will concede that, but sooner or later, the police ground will have to used for political meetings, simply because it is the only large ground in the centre of the town.” Pratap Chatruvedi was the lawyer setting forth the pros and cons of the case with a calm, forensic detachment.
“The police ground is out of bounds I tell you. Today it is the Congress party, tomorrow it will be the Communists, then the Hindu boys. I will not have a whole lot of seditious lawyers and rabble rousers trampling up and down my parade ground.”
“I am only stating what a faction of the party wants to do. Personally I am not in favour the police ground, but a lot of my colleagues are, and the last thing that we want is for the meeting to be disrupted because the college ground is not big enough to hold the crowd.”
Before the SP could interject, the Collector raised a conciliatory hand, “Cartwright, will you please look into this matter and sort it out. I am sure there must be a way out that will be acceptable to all the concerned parties.”
Chaturvedi rose to go, bowing to the Assistant Collector and the Collector before he went out, but ignoring the SP.
“Damned cheek, I call it. We have to put this fellow in his place, or he will be telling us how to run the district. I have just the right medicine for the likes of Mr Pratap Chaturvedi with this highfalutin.”
“Don’t do anything rash Macgregor,” said the Collector, as a very old woman was ushered into the room by the Collectors liveried peon. She broke into loud sobs on seeing the Collectors.
“Dry your tears Amma, and tell me what ails you?” said the Collector in Hindustani.
But the woman was almost deaf and the peon had to shout in her ear to make her understand what the Collector was saying. She could however speak will enough and in a shrill, screechy voice began a long recitation whose upshot was that she was now very old and as she was childless and had no close relations, she wanted to bequeath the house where she lived to a Hindu family who took care of her. The Muslims of the area were opposed to this but she was determined to do what she though was right.”
“Where is the family who look after you.” The Collector asked you.” The Collector asked the old woman.
“Sir, they are waiting outside,” said the peon.
“And those Muslims who are opposed to this transaction, have they also come?”
“Sir, there is an old Maulana who is also outside.” Again it was the peon who answered, for the old woman was too deaf to hear what the Collector was saying.
“Cartwright, I think here is more grist for your mill.” Then the Collector looked the peon,” tell these people to meet Cartwright sahib tomorrow. Are there any more petitioners?”
“No sir!”
“Well, in that case let’s call it a day. We will talk over the other matters tomorrow.” The three officers walked out. There was a minor commotion at their emergence from the chamber. All those who were milling about the compound stood still. Those who were sitting down stood up. Those who were already standing bowed. The Collector acknowledged all the greeting, nodding pleasantly at everyone. It was easy to see why he was so popular. The SP did not bother to look at the people who had shown such deference to him. He assumed that all the bowing and scraping was for the Collector, and in any case he took it as the natural order of things that a native should defer to a white man. Cartwright smiled and nodded at the few greetings which seemed to be directed at him though he saw too that it was the Collector really who was the centre of attraction.
“No chance of rain anywhere,” said the Collector, looking up at the sky as his phaeton was brought up. “Well, see you at the club Macgregor.”
“Aye!” said the SP waiting for the Collector to leave before calling up his own police vehicle. Cartwright was the last to leave, for according to protocol he came after the SP, though before almost everyone else.
Next day, before Cartwright went to his chamber, the Collector called him up. “Morning Cartwright. You are going to hear the Congresswallahas today about their problem with the meeting ground, I believe. And the old woman’s case as well. Well, both these cases are sensitive. One faction of the Congress may take it upon itself to make trouble if it thinks that the other faction has been favoured and in the old woman’s case there are extremists on both sides who might give a communal colour to the whole issue. In India nothing is as innocent or harmless as it appears. I have therefore asked the Tehsildar to be present in your chamber. Do consult him before you make up your mind. He is an old hand, he knows the ropes and the ins and outs of the situation as well as anyone. You will find his advice useful.”
“Thank you sir, I was wondering how I was going to tackle these matters. I shall certainly take Mr. Dube’s advice.”
“And when in doubt, trust to your own instincts as an Englishman, you can’t go far wrong.”
The Tehsildar was already present in Cartwright’s chamber and waiting for him to arrive. “Oh, I am gold you are here Mr Dube, the Collector has already spoken to you, I take it.”
“Oh yes sir!”
“Well, as there is no one who knows this town better than you I shall welcome your advice. What shall we do with the old woman’s case, to begin with.”
“Your honour should do justice, and to my mind, justice in this case means giving this house to the family that looks after the old lady. Lest your honour misunderstand me. I must hasten to add that I am not speaking as a Hindu in this case, but only as an official of the state. I am sure the old cleric who is opposed to this transaction will quote Mohammedan law before your honour, but I know the old man, he as his eyes on the house because he wants to open a shop in it. His son is an idle good-for-nothing loafer who doesn’t doa spot of work. I don’t think the other Muslims in the town will bother too much about the house. And both Hindus and Muslims will accept whatever verdict your honour gives. British justice, sir !Oh the other hand, whatever a Hindu or Muslim judge rules will be considered partisan by ne side.”
“I see, and what about the Congress case.”
“There sir, I favour the stand of the SP. The police ground should not be used for political meetings, it must remain a neutral area, outside the scope of politics. And the police have already been at work I am told. Some of the Leading Congressmen have criminal cases pending against them and the threat of arrest works wonders with them. I suspect that they will not make an issue of this if your honour is firm with them.”
“Very well, what you have said agrees with my own instincts in the matter. But be on hand. I will consult you should the need arise. “Cartwright rose and walked across to the court room, through the connecting door which opened out on the dais on which a high-backed chair was placed behind a table. A wooden railing with balusters separated the dais from the rest of the room. The court reader sat at a table, several feet below the dais, at one end of the room. On two benches placed below the dais in the centre of the room sat several men, some in black coats and judicial collars, others in white homespun kurtas and dhotis, the ostentatious badge of the congress politician. They all stood up as Cartwright took his seat on the dais and there was a minor commotion as several men tried to come up front, jostling each other.
“Mr Cartwright sir, magistrate sahib,” several voices spoke up at the same time.
“One at a time, gentlemen, or I won’t be able to hear you.”
“Pratap Chaturvedi, in the black coat of the lawyer, now came forward. “May it please your honour, we are here to request your honour to consider our application to hold Mahatama Gandhi’s public meeting in the police ground. I may say that the matter was discussed in the District Congress Committee and it was agreed, almost unanimously to hold the meeting in the police ground because it was felt that it is the only ground large enough to contain the crowd that is expected to turn up for the meeting.”
“It was to unanimously agree. The College grounds are more suitable, “Shouted some at the back.
“Please continue Mr Chaturvedi,” said the magistrate, ignoring the interruption.
“As I was saying sir, the Police ground is the only ground big enough to hold the crowd that we expect would turn up. We know that this ground has never been used for a public meeting in the past, but given the especial circumstances of the case, perhaps a departure from past practice would be desirable.”
“The College ground is better.” Again it was the loud voice from the back of the crowd.
“You sir, please come forward!”
A large bullish man in a white kurta, somewhat cowed down by the magistrate’s stern voice stepped up to the dais. “What is your name sir?” Asked Cartwright in his most pompous tone.
“Shankar Singh.”
“Well, Mr Singh, you will get your chance to speak, but not before Mr Chaturvedi has finished. Until then you will not speak or disturb the proceedings, because if you do I will wash my hands of the whole thing. And your party will hold you responsible. Is that clear?”
“Yes sir, I only want to say….”
Later, when your turn comes.” Thus reprimanded, the portly man fell silent.
Chaturvedi began again, clearing his throat in his most impressive court room manner.” I don’t have much to add to what I have already said. I hope our concerns will be kept in mind by the administration while taking a decision. Now as my friend seems so anxious to speak, I will let him take to floor.”
“Well, Mr Shankar Singh, what have you to say.”
“Sir, all that I have to say is that the meeting should be held in the College ground because that is where all political meetings are usually held. If we change the venue, it is quite likely that most people would not turn up, simply because they are not used to having meetings being held in the Police ground. I feel, and I am sure many members of the party feel as I do, that we should stick to tradition in this matter and hold the meeting the ground in the College ground.”
“You do not think the ground may not be big enough to hold the crowd.”
“It is big enough, and there are houses around, balconies, rooftops and so on. I do not think the size of the crowd will be a problem.”
Just then the court peon quietly placed a small slip of paper on the desk in front of the magistrate. If was a note from the Tehsildar, “Sir! You should ask them to decide this issue amongst themselves. They will ask for time but your honour should not grant them any time. Let them sit here and discuss the matter and make up their minds. I am sure they would not be able to. Your honour can then decide the matter for them.”
Cartwright read the note, not visible to those who stood below the dais, because ofhe red calico draped over the railing. All right gentlemen, as you have differences of opinion amongst yourselves and as there is something to be said on both sides, I will leave you to decide this matter amongst yourselves. But I want a unanimous decision.
This pronouncement was heard with some consternation. “But sir, you can’t do this.”
“I certainly can. And surely the Congress party can arrive at a consensus on an issue that concerns their own interest, without the arbitration of outsiders.”
“In that case sir, we shall need a few days to make up our minds. Perhaps we can come back to you tomorrow with our decision.”
“Tomorrow, no,no, I suggest you discuss this matter right now, and let me know of your decision as soon possible. The meeting hall, right next door will be put at your disposal.”
“You want us to sit here and discuss this.” Chaturvedi was incredulous.
“Mr Chaturvedi I am sure you appreciate the gravity of the situation. This matter has to sorted out right now in the interest of law and order. And you will also agree that this faction fight is doing no good to the image of your party.”
“But sir, we need time.
“I am sorry, I must have your decision by mid-day Jamadaar, please call the next case.”
The black coats and white kurtas walked out in some disarray, talking and gesticulating, and the old woman followed by the bearded Muslim cleric and the Hindu family that looked after the old woman walked in. The Mullah bowed deeply to the chair as did the others except the old woman who was already bent double as she hobbled in.
Cartwright asked the Mullah to step forward, “You sir! Please take the witness box.”
The Mullah stepped into the box and was administered the oath, “I swear by the Holy Koran that I shall speak the truth and nothing but the truth.” It sounded much more impressive in flowery official Urdu.
“Now sir, tell me what is your objection to the old woman’s will.”
“Your honour, she is a Muslim but wants to bequeath her house to a Hindu.”
“And what is to stop her doing that. Is it prohibited in Mohammaden law?”
“Your honour according to the Shariat a Muslim’s property must devolve upon a Muslim.”
“Even when there are no known heirs.”
“In that case it must go to the community.”
What if the woman is abandoned by the community and has to depend on the charity of other who may not be Muslim”
“That would have been different, but in this case the old woman was not abandoned, she just never sought the help of the community. She could have come to the mosque or the community elders like me, instead she fell into the clutches of greedy neighbours and now wants to give away a house that should rightfully come to the community.”
“All right let us see what the old lady has to say for herself.”
The old woman was leady to the witness box. “Now to whom do wish to bequeath your house?”
The question was shouted into her ears by the Court Moharrir, “to him,” she mumbled, pointing at the Hindu family, shrinking in the background, and nodding her head vigorously.
“Who not to your own community?”
The old woman had some trouble understanding the question when it was shouted into her ear. The idea of community was too abstract for her to grasp, but finally understanding dawned. “Ah! you mean to him,” she said pointing at the Mullah, and shaking her finger. “I will tell you why, because these people fed me when I was hungry, they washed me when I was too ill to move, they sat by my side when I was without a friend in the world. I don’t care whether they are Hindu, or Christians, or heathens, to me they are just human. I know nothing of law and other fine thing which the Mullah talks of, but these people have done good to me, and I shall do good to them. And your honour must help me. You are our mai baap sahib, our father and mother, and must do justice, this my last wish.”
“What is the law about a person’s last wish, sir?” Cartwright asked the Mullah.
The Mullah hesitated a while before answering, “It must be honoured.”
“Well then, let the old woman have her way, it is her last wish after all.”
The news of the decision spread rapidly through the Collectorate and the crowd of petitioners, lawyers, notaries, and hangers on were all greatly impressed with this example of British justice. The new sahib was a quick decision-maker, and he was just. Both Hindus and Muslims applauded the decision. It was taken for granted that because he was a sahib he could not be biased in favour of either side. Even those Muslims who took a legalistic view of their law could find no fault with this decision, but the majority opinion in the community was in any case disposed to honour the woman’s wish. They did not want their community to be seen as the one that bilked the Hindus out of a small bequest.
In the meantime the Congressmen were called back to the court-room. “Well, you have come to a decision I hope,” said Cartwright.
“Yes sir, we have.”
“And what is the decision”
“We have decided to leave the whole matter to your discretion. Whatever you decide will be acceptable.”
“Really, I thought you would have settled the matter yourself by now. However, as you choose to submit this to my arbitrations, my decision is to have the meeting in the College grounds. First because that is where all meetings have been held and I see no reason for departing from a sound tradition. And second because holding the meeting in the police ground may intimidate a section of the people. It may well be that far fewer people will turn up on the Police ground on account of this, than you expect. I don’t think they will like to hold a meeting with police barracks all around them. So I think on all counts the College ground is the best bet and that is where you should hold your meeting.”
The Congresswalahs hadn’t thought of this aspect of the question and several heads nodded sagely when Cartwright announced his decision. In no time at all people were wondering how they could ever have seriously thought of the police ground as a place for a public meeting. Cartwright Sahib’s decision was not only natural, it was the only decision under the circumstances.
The evening at the club he was toasted by his compatriots. Macgregor was the most effusive. “Well done, old boy, well done. You dealt with the matter like an old hand. Thank God, my parade ground is safe. I wouldn’t have done to have laathi-charged on police ground.‘Congress meeting can-charged on police ground,” or some such headline like that, makes it look much worse somehow.”
“It wouldn’t come to that, Macgregor,” said the Collector. “A cane-charge is a bad business, anywhere, but yes, Cartwright was marvellous today. I don’t believe I could’ have done the job with this finesse.”
Cartwright was modest.” It was nothing sir, I was only following Mr Dube’s advice.”
“Yes, the Tehsildar is a shrewd man, but tell me what he told you in the matter.”
“Not much sir, he only told me to follow my own instincts. But he did tell me that the Congrewallahas will not be able to decide the issue and I will have to make the decision for them.”
It was the SP who spoke. “The Tehsider was damned right. He knows his own people well. These natives can talk nineteen to a dozen, but when it comes to taking a decision, they look to us to do the job for them. Now you see how hopelessly indecisive there Congressmen are. They couldn’t run a boy scout club, let alone the blasted country.”
A bearer brought a glass of pink gin for the SP on a salver and after taking a long swallow the spoke again.” Cartwright, my boy, this country will always need the arbitration of foreigners and it’s a good thing they have us instead of the Moghuls or Afghans of Turks or some other freebooting barbarian”
The Collector shook his head at this but he did not contradict Macgregor.
