CHAPTER 14
“Get me those damned posters!” Barked the SP. His personal assistant, who was actually a head-constable hurried out of the room and come back with a sheaf of hand-bills.
“How many of these do we have?”
“Only twenty sir, But more are still being found. Some were passed on the wall of the Municipal Committee’s office and got torn when we took them down.”
The SP spread one out on his desk and looked at it. It was badly printed on cheap yellow paper,but still the hold type was easy enough to read. “Two Questions for Mahatma Gandhi,” read the caption. Underneath the caption was the following text:-
Q1. How will no-violence get rid of the ruthless British Imperialists, who did not hesitate to kill hundreds of our brothers and sisters in Jallianwala Bag in Amritsar?
Q 2. How will the Congress party, which was created by an Englishman, and consists mainly of English speaking lawyers, ever change the oppressive social order, even if it comes to power?
Mahatama Ganchi and the Congress Party are agents of the British. The only way to throw out the butchers of Amritsar is to give a bullet for a bullet, an eye for an eyes and a tooth for a tooth.
Sd.
Revolutionary youth Society of India
He called for his jeep and drove down to the Collector’s office. “Have you had a look at these?” he asked the Collector, flourishing the sheaf of hand-bills.
“Yes, that’s all I have been doing since morning. What do they say?”
The SP handed over one of the posters. The Collector went through the contents with a frown of concentration on his face. “The Revolutionary society of India, who are they?”
“No idea, yet, but I suspect our friend Maan Singh is involved in this somehow.”
“What makes you think so.”
“Nothing in particular. It’s just a feeling that I have. There are of course intelligence reports that the terrorists are planning something big. But those are still vague about details.”
The Collector looked pensive. “Think there might be trouble?”
“Not really. I have plainclothes men posted all over the town and the bazaar gossip is that there won’t be any trouble. Maan Singh and his gang just want to put the Congress on the back foot, that’s all. And strictly between you and me there is something in these questions, don’t you think.”
The Collector ignored the question. “Well, I just hope you are right. What do the Congress boys have to say about it?”
“My information is that they are mightily embarrassed, as they were meant to be. The lesser leaders will, I am told give a fitting reply to these charges during their rally. But no one knows what Gandhi will say. Everything depends on his attitude.”
“Exactly. I suppose it would be wise idea to sound Chaturvedi on the matter.”
“Certainly. Would you like me to call him over to the Kotwali.”
“No, I don’t think what would be such a good idea. You know what a proud man he is. If you summon his he would just clam up. Tell you nothing. I think I will have to call him to my bungalow.”
“Well, please yourself. If you really want to mollycoddle these congresswallahs, why not send Cartwright to see the fellow. He would be flattered no end. That way we could really get him to speak his mind.”
The Collector rose from his chair and clapped his hands enthusiastically. “By Jove! That’s a good idea. Jamadar, tell Cartwright Sahib to come over.”
It was arranged that Cartwright should visit Pratap Dubey in his home. The Collector was right, Mr Dubey considered this visit a great honour. It was so unusual for a British official to visit an Indian home on an official errand that everyone soon got to know about the proposed visit. When Cartwright actually reached Mr Dubey’s house in Gole Bazar near the ghats, a small crowd had already gathered to watch. The Collector had leant him his phaeton for the occasion and this glittering equipage with the insignia of the government printed on its side made a great impression on the crowd, Cartwright himself felt a little disconcerted by the crowd and the ceremoniousness of the whole thing. In India, he thought to himself, one couldn’t even make an official visit to an Indian without the whole business turning into a pageant, Mr Dubey was waiting at the gates to receive him and he had a garland in this hand. He was determined it seemed, to turn the matter into a ceremonial occasion. Why couldn’t Indians do things without so much insistence on ceremonial, he thought, Indo-British relations, especially on the official plane were marked with too much condescension on the part of the British and too much formality on the part of the Indians. Where was the easy informality that should inform relations between two different races who had been living in close contact with each other for more than a hundred years.
Pratap Dubey was effusive in his welcome. Cartwright had to accept garlands from a whole retinue of people, obviously friends, cronies, relatives and retainers of Mr Dubey. He was then ushered into the drawing room. The house itself turned out to be quite modest. There was a small veranda, now enclosed by a low wall topped off with a latticed screen of bamboo palings. The drawing room was a largish room with an assortment of chairs and sofas, place around a rug. Against one wall was row of cupboards containing leather bound legal tomes. Cartwright was conducted to the largest chair, a kind of throne really which seemed to have been brought in from somewhere and did not go with the rest of the furniture.
As he sank into the overstuffed sofa retainers fussed around him. One placed a few cushions behind his back another brought a footstool. “Thank you, that’ll do.” Cartwright was almost embarrassed at the fuss.
“I bid you welcome once again, Mr Cartwright.”
“Thank you Mr Dubey. You have a fine house.”
“Thank you sir, It is kind of you to say so.”
A servant entered carrying a tray with a tea-pot. Another followed him with cups and saucers which were placed on a large table and tea poured out into the cups. The servant then placed the cup on the tray and brought it to Cartwright. Another servant brought plates of biscuits, wafers and dry fruits, which were again arranged in a neat row on the table in front of him and Cartwright was ceremonially asked to partake of them. Ceremony, ceremony and more ceremony.
“How do you find our little district town, now that you have had a good look at it Mr Cartwright.”
“Oh! Quite pleasant. And the forest is beautiful.”
“You haven’t found the climate trying. Several of your predecessors couldn’t cope with the weather, or so at least they used to say.”
“Oh no! I like that heat and the sunshine. We get so little of it in England. And the winter is like the English spring. Delightful in fact.”
“I am glad of it. You are disposed to like India that is why have made such a great impression on everyone.”
“Have I really.”
“Yes indeed! Anther cup of tea sir,”
“No thank you.” Cartwright could hear the shuffling of many feet and whispering of the men who were clustering in various places outside the room, trying to overhear what was being said. He realized that he would have to come to the point himself. Mr Dubey obviously though it impolite to query him on the real purpose of his visit.
“You know about these posters that I have appeared in the town about Mahatma Gandhi’s meeting.”
“Yes sir, It is the work of that bandit Maan Singh, no doubt.”
“What does your party think about it. Do you expect trouble.”
“No, There will be no trouble. You can rest assured. I have spoken to Gandhiji about it.”
“Have you indeed! And what did he say.”
“He said we were not to worry about it and he would give his reply to the questions raised in the poster during the public meeting.”
“I see. Well, I hope the police can arrest the culprits I the meantime. There are still there three days to go for the meeting.” As Cartwright said this, the shuffling and whispering seemed to increase.
“I hope so too, sir.”
Cartwright rose to go. “Well, you have put my mind at ease Mr Dube. Thank you. I think I will now go back to the Collectorate and get things moving”
As he was being ushered out a figure dashed out from behind the screen and fell at his feet startling him.
“Sir! Sir! sir!” said the prostrate form, grabbing his feet.
Pratap Dube quickly stepped in. “Get up Mukundilal, you should be ashamed of yourself.
The figure rose. It was a youngish man in the white Khadi clothes worn by Congressmen. He now stood before Cartwright with folded hands, quick unfazed by his recent behaviour. “Sir, forgive me for intruding on you in this manner but I had to tell you not to arrest these criminals. If you do so, it will make them heroes. It will make them martyrs. And we don’t want that, do we.”
Cartwright looked at Pratap Dube who nodded. “Much as I regret the unconventional manner of Mukundi’s address I think there is something in what he says. Of course the administration must arrest these criminals but surely we can wait until after the meeting.”
“I’ll convey your sentiments to the SP”
“I hope you will prevail upon him sir, Our SP is a good man, but he is apt to get carried away sometimes.”
“I will see what I can do. Thank you once again.” Cartwright drove off through a crowd of people who were shouting. “Cartwright sahib ki jai!as his phaeton drove away.
