Mahatma Gandhi: on way home to India

[Prof. Dr. Yogendra Yadav]

Prof. Dr. Yogendra Yadav

Senior Gandhian Scholar, Professor, Editor and Linguist

Gandhi International Study and Research Institute, Jalgaon, Maharashtra, India

Contact No. – 09404955338, 09415777229

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Mahatma Gandhi: on way home to India 

 

 

It was on the 12th June, 1891, that I left for Bombay after three years' stay in England. A beautiful day it was: the sun shone brilliantly; no overcoat was needed to keep off the cold breezes. It was at 11.45 that an express train carrying the passengers left the Liverpool Street Station for the docks. I could not make myself believe that I was going to India until I stepped into the steamship Oceana, of the P. & O. Company. So much attached was I to London and its environments for who would not be? London with its teaching institutions, public galleries, museums, theatres, vast commerce, public parks and vegetarian restaurants, is a fit place for a student and a traveler, a trader and a “addist” as a vegetarian would be called by his opponents. Thus, it was not without deep regret that I left dear London. At the same time I was glad because I was to see my friends and relations in India after such a long time. Oceana is an Australian steamer, one of the largest boats of the Company. She weighs 6,188 tons and her horse-power is 1,200.

When we stepped into this vast floating island, we were treated to a good refreshing tea, to which all (passengers and friends alike) did justice. I must not omit to say that the tea was served gratis. At this time, a stranger would have taken them all for passengers (and they were a goodly number), from the ease with which they were taking their tea; but, when the bell rang to inform the friends of the passengers that the ship was going to weigh anchor, the number appreciably melted away. There was much cheering and waving of handkerchiefs when the ship steamed off the harbour. It may be well here to contrast the Oceana with the Assam into which the Bombay-bound passengers had to transship at Aden. There were English waiters on the Oceana, always neat, clean and obliging. On the other hand, there were Portuguese waiters on board the Assam, who murdered the Queen's English, and who were always the reverse of clean, and also sulky and slow. There was, moreover, a difference of quality in the food supplied in the two steamers. This was not evident from the way in which the passengers were grumbling in the Assam nor was this all. The accommodation in the Oceana far outdid that in the Assam; this, however, the company could not help; they could not throw away the latter because the former was better. How did the vegetarians manage in the ship? This would be an apt question. Well, there were only two vegetarians, including myself. Both of us were prepared, in case we did not get anything better, to manage with boiled potatoes, cabbage and butter.

But we had no reason to go to that extreme. The obliging steward gave us some vegetable curry, rice, stewed and fresh fruit from the first saloon, and last, but not least, brown bread; so we had all we wanted. Undoubtedly, they are very liberal in giving good and sufficient food to the passengers. Only, they go too far; so at least it seems to me. It would not be amiss to describe what the second-saloon menus contained, and how many meals the passengers had. To begin with, the first thing in the morning, an average passenger would have a cup or two of tea and a few biscuits. At 8.30 a.m. the breakfast bell would bring down the passengers to the dining room. They were punctual to the minute, at their meals, at any rate. The breakfast menu generally contained oatmeal porridge, some fish, chop, curry, jam, bread and butter, tea or coffee, etc., everything ad labium. I have often seen passengers take porridge, fish and curry, bread and butter, and wash down with two or three cups of tea. Hardly had we time to digest the breakfast, when, bang,-it was the dinner bell at 1.30 p.m.

The dinner was as good as breakfast: plenty of mutton and vegetables rice and curry, pastry, and what not. Two days of the week, all the second-saloon passengers were served with fruit and nuts in addition to the ordinary dinner. But this, too, was not sufficient. The dinner fare was so easily digestible that we wanted a “refreshing” cup of tea and biscuits at 4 p.m. Well, but the evening breezes seemed so soon to take away all the effect of “that little” cup of tea that we were served a “high tea” at 6.30 p.m.: bread and butter, jam or marmalade, or both, salad, chops, tea, coffee, etc. The sea-air seemed to be so very salubrious that the passengers could not retire to bed before taking a few, a very few only eight or ten, fifteen at the most biscuits, a little cheese and some wine or beer. In the light of the above, are not the following lines too true: Your belly is your God, your stomach is your temple, your paunch is your altar, and your cook is your priest? It is in the cooking-pots that your love is inflamed, it is in the kitchen that your faith grows fervid, it is in the flesh-dishes that all hope lies hid. Who is held in so much esteem with you as the frequent giver of dinners, as the sumptuous entertainer, as the practised toaster of health? The second saloon was pretty full of passengers of all sorts.

There were soldiers, clergymen, barbers, sailors, students, officials and, maybe, adventurers. There were three or four ladies. We beguiled our time chiefly in eating and drinking. The rest of the time was either dozed away or passed in chatting, at times in discussing, in playing games, etc. But after two or three days, the time between the meals seemed to hang heavy in spite of discussions and cards and scandals. Some of us really warmed to the work and got up concerts, tugs of war, and running races for prizes. One evening was devoted to concerts and speeches. Now, I thought it was time for me to poke my nose in. I requested the secretary of the committee, who managed those things, to give me a quarter of an hour for a short speech on vegetarianism. The secretary obligingly nodded consent to my request. Well, I made grand preparations. I thought out and then wrote out and re-wrote the speech that was to be delivered. I well knew that I had to meet a hostile audience, and that I should take care that my speech did not send my audience to sleep. The secretary had asked me to be humorous. I told him that I might be nervous, but humorous I could not be. Now, what do you think became of the speech? The second concert never came off, and so the speech was never delivered, to my great mortification. I fancy it was because no one seemed to enjoy the first evening, for we had no Pitts and Gladstone’s in the second saloon. However, I succeeded in discussing vegetarianism with two or three passengers, who heard me calmly, and answered in effect, “We grant you the argument; but so long as we feel happy on our present diet (never mind about our being dyspeptic at times), we cannot give it a trial!” One of them, seeing that my vegetarian friend and I got nice fruits every day, did give the V. E. M. diet a trial, but the chop was too great a temptation for him. Poor man! 1

Moreover, as an instance of affability between passengers and of politeness on the part of the first-saloon passengers, the second-saloon passengers were often invited to witness the theatricals and dances that they got up from time to time. They had some very nice ladies and gentlemen in the first saloon. But it would not do to have all play and no quarrel, so some of the passengers thought fit to get drunk (beg your pardon, Mr. Editor, they got drunk almost every evening, but this particular evening they got drunk and disorderly). They, it seems, were discussing with one another over a glass of whisky, when some of them used improper language then followed a fight of words culminating in a fight of blows. The matter was reported to the captain. He reproved these pugilistic gentlemen, and ever since then we had no more rows. Thus, dividing our time between eating and amusements, we moved onward. After two days' voyage, the steamer passed by, but did not touch, Gibraltar. This caused much disappointment, mostly among smokers, who wanted to get tobacco, duty-free in Gibraltar, as some of us had entertained a hope the steamer would cast anchor. The next place reached was Malta. It being a coaling station, the steamer stops there for about nine hours. Almost all the passengers went ashore. Malta is a beautiful island without the London smoke. The construction of houses is different. We had a look round the Governor's palace. The armory is well worth a visit. Napoleon's carriage is on view there. You see there some beautiful paintings too.

The market is not bad. The fruit is cheap. The cathedral is magnificent. We had a nice drive of about six miles to the orange garden. There you see some thousands of orange trees and some ponds with gold fish. The drive was very cheap, only 2s. 6d. what a wretched place Malta is for beggars! You cannot go along the road quietly without being pestered by a crowd of dirty looking beggars. Some would offer to be your guides; others would offer to take you to shops where you could buy cigars or the famous Maltese sweet nougat. From Malta we reached Brindisi. It is a good harbour and that is all. You cannot pass a single day in amusement. We had about nine hours or more at our disposal, but we could not utilize even four. After Brindisi we reached Port Said. There we took final leave of Europe and the Mediterranean. Of course, there is nothing to be seen in Port Said, unless you want to see the dregs of society. It is full of rogues and rascals. From Port Said the steamer moves along very slowly, for we enter the Suez Canal of M. de Lesseps. It is a distance of eighty-seven miles. The steamer took nearly twenty-four hours to travel that distance. We were close to the land on both sides. The strip of water is so narrow that two steamers cannot go abreast except at certain places. At night the sight is charming. All the ships are required to light electric lights in front and these are very powerful. The scene when two ships pass one another is very pleasant. The electric light you get from the opposite ship is simply dazzling. We passed the Ganges. We raised three cheers for her, which were heartily returned by the passengers on board the Ganges. The town Suez is at the other end of the canal. The steamer hardly stops there for half an hour. Now we entered the Red Sea.

It was a three days' voyage but it was most trying. It was unbearably hot. Not only was it impossible to remain inside the steamer, but it was too hot even on the deck. Here, for the first time, we felt that we were going to India to face the hot climate. We had some breeze when we reached Aden. Here, we (the passengers for Bombay) had to transship into the Assam.. It was like leaving London for a miserable village. The Assam is hardly half as big as the Oceana. Misfortunes never come single; with the Assam we had a stormy ocean, because it was the monsoon season. The Indian Ocean is generally calm, so during monsoon it is stormy with a vengeance. We had to pass five days more on the waters before we reached Bombay. The second night brought the real storm. Many were sick. If I ventured out on the deck I was splashed with water. There goes a crash; something is broken. In the cabin you cannot sleep quietly. The door is banging. Your bags begin to dance. You roll in your bed. You sometimes feel as if the ship is sinking. At the dinner table you are no more comfortable. The steamer rolls on your side. Your forks and spoons are in your lap, even the cruet stand and the soup plate; your napkin is dyed yellow and so on.

One morning I asked the steward if that was what he would call a real storm, and he said: “No, sir, this is nothing.” and, waving his arm showed me how the steamer would roll in a real storm. Thus tossed up and down, we reached Bombay on July 5th. It was raining very hard and so it was difficult going ashore. However, we reached the shore safely, and bade good-bye to the Assam. What a human cargo was on the Oceana, and the Assam! Some were going to make fortunes in Australia in high hopes; some, having finished their studies in England, were going to India in order to earn a decent living. Some were called away by a sense of duty, some were going to meet their husbands in Australia or India, as the case may be, and some were adventurers who, being disappointed at home, were going to pursue their adventures, God knows where. Were the hopes of all realized? That is the question. How hopeful, yet how often disappointed, is the human mind! We live in hopes. 2

 

References:

 

1. The Vegetarian, 9-4-1892
2. The Vegetarian, 16-4-1892