Haji Hussain Dawad Mahomed and Mahatma Gandhi

[Prof. Dr. Yogendra Yadav]

Prof. Dr. Yogendra Yadav

Senior Gandhian Scholar, Professor, Editor and Linguist

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

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 Haji Hussain Dawad Mahomed and Mahatma Gandhi 

 

It is with full deliberation that I say that the untimely death of Bhai Hussain has widowed the Indian community here. People may wonder whether it is not something of an exaggeration to say that a young man of 22, of whom most Indians had not even heard, whom not many had seen, who never made any big speeches and never sought to teach wisdom to people, has widowed the people by his death, but my answer will still be the same. The character which Bhai Hussain possessed I have seen in few youths or grown-up men. In South Africa, I can think of no grown-up man who can equal him, and I doubt if there is any among the many youths whom I know. If there is anyone who can surpass him, such a one is not known to me. Bhai Hussain had based his way of life on truth. He lived for truth. Bhai Hussain detested lying, deceit, cunning and hypocrisy. He felt extremely uncomfortable in the presence of deceit.

Whenever he saw people lying, his head would ache and he felt like flying away from there, if only he had wings. The lies that go on in ordinary company were so disgusting to this youth that, many a time, he felt disinclined to stay on in Durban. Whenever he heard and believed that a man was good, he was all admiration for him. So guileless was he. His heart was meek like a cow’s. I never observed the slightest taint of sin in him. His innocence and his frankness were all his own. A budding rose has withered. But its fragrance remains. We can still enjoy deep draughts of it. He has left that fragrance with everyone who came in contact with him. Evil company had no effect on him. Once Mr. Dawad Mahomed wrote to Hussain, “My son, guard you against the temptations of life in England. Beware of evil company.” I remember what Mr. Hussain wrote back in reply: “Father, you do not know your son. Evil company cannot taint Hussain. Your son is not likely to succumb to the temptations in England.” That was the gist of his reply. It takes a Hussain to write with such assurance. He was a parasmani. Base metal like iron would turn into gold in contact with it. I request the readers not to think that I have exaggerated anything in what I have said. Along with these other virtues, the fire of patriotism always kept burning in his heart. Having never seen India, he had drawn a picture of her in his dreams.

This youth was prepared to die for India and Indians. How Indians may prosper, how the sons of India may shine out was his constant concern. I believe he was a zealous Muslim, but he had not the slightest hatred of other religions. To him all Indians, Hindus, Muslims, Christians and Parsees, were the same. That they should be good was all that he wanted. Indians, for the simple reason that they were Indians, were like brothers to him. Who can think it an exaggeration to say that we have been widowed by the passing away of one so richly endowed? Though Bhai Hussain was born in the house of a merchant prince like Mr. Dawad Mahomed, he had distaste for business right from his childhood. A desire for education came upon him. His father put him under my charge in Phoenix. Forthwith, all the inmates of Phoenix fell in love with him. With his guileless nature, he soon spread the aroma of his presence all around. He became entirely one with my family, and I felt I had gained a fifth son. After he had stayed for a few months, he wrote to me: “I like Phoenix.

I wish to spend my life here. But just now I wish to go to England. I have satisfied you that I am not likely to get corrupted there. It is my desire not to. Kindly give me your permission and secure my father’s permission.” He was not content with Phoenix. He desired to acquire a good education in letters. He wanted to utilize his gift for poetry. He copied the poem “A garden in spring, this world” and sent it to me. He had taught it to everyone in Phoenix. In copying the last verse, he changed, “Let Nazir remembers this” to “Let Hussain remembers this”. I asked him why. He told me that though the poem was not his, the thoughts it expressed were his too. His desire was to be a Nazir. The boy then went to England. He wanted to be a barrister. I did not fancy the idea. I reasoned with him. He told me, “That may be so for you, but not for me. For myself, let me be a barrister.”  “What will you do after that, my friend?” “You will see.” “Do you want to practice and earn money?” His vehement answer “Certainly not, Sir”, still rings in my ears. “My only desire is to serve my country. Having made myself a lawyer and a well-informed man, I will stay in Phoenix and share the sufferings of my fellow-countrymen.” Dawad Sheth sent Bhai Hussain to England. The moment he reached there, he started work on his studies. He worked on and on. There’s a beautiful ground near London, where he would go and sit all alone and fall into a reverie. This is a state similar to samadhi. He would be engrossed in his favourite poems. He often showed me the poems he wrote sitting there One or two of these I showed to persons who were good judges of English poetry, and they told me that Hussain, indeed, showed promise of developing a gift for poetry. In a place like England, he preferred solitude.

I do not remember that he ever fell a prey to a single one of the innumerable temptations in England. But fell Time was stalking Bhai Hussain. Just when I was in England, he manifested symptoms of tuberculosis. I was alarmed. He was sent for a change of air. The best doctors there and a doctor in Paris too were consulted. But the disease had gone deep. Periods of progress were followed by relapses. Husain’s luster began to fade. His spirit was gone. He felt miserable. The hope for life was strong in him. Not, however, for the sake of pleasures. He wanted to live on only because he wanted to serve the country. He returned to South Africa. There were again signs of improvement. He toured in India, as on a pilgrimage. Writing from there, he said, “I have not come to see the places in India. I am looking into India’s heart, which I came to see.” Then he went on to holy Mecca. There he poured out his pure heart to God. The pilgrimage had a deep effect on his mind. In a letter that he wrote from there, he said, ‘How great must be the power of the Prophet for whose sake millions of people every year gather in this holy place? Who can doubt his being a Prophet? I feel extremely happy at heart that I came here.” There, the Bulgarian war was on. Bhai Hussain soon became the adviser, guide and friend of his father and other companions. He won the hearts of the big officers there and created a fine impression about India and Indian Muslims. What must have made the people adore this child? I will say that it was the light of his truthfulness.

The father and son then separated. Dawad Sheth returned to Durban. Bhai Hussain, however, wanted to complete his education in England. But God had willed otherwise. Suddenly Bhai Hussain started spitting blood. His health went down badly. Dawad Sheth received a cable. He resigned himself to his fate. He knew that Hussain would not come back unless he was seriously ill. That relapse proved to be the last. In Durban he was put to bed, where he remained, never to leave it. He was treated by the best of doctors. The father turned into a nurse. I have seen very few fathers attending on their sons as this one did. Hussain was to Dawad Sheth as the very pupil of his eye. He watched him day and night. Never did he leave his side even for an hour. But human effort is unavailing before fate. Fate always walks two paces ahead, and strides on so fast, that one can never overtake it. Whenever I went to Durban, Congella became a place of pilgrimage to me. Once I saw tears in Husain’s eyes. I asked: “Is death so difficult to face, brother?” With a smile, Hussain replied, “I am not afraid of death.” Then, crying, “But I have as yet done nothing whatever, I want ever so much to serve the country.” I tried to console him, saying, “Bhai, you have done much indeed for the country. If India was to produce young men like you, her condition would change for the better this very day. Even if you die, to me you will always be alive.

The body will perish; it has ceased to be of service. But the soul is immortal. Personally, I believe that you will come to possess a more splendid body and will be able to render better service to India.” But this was no consolation to him. He could be sure, so to speak, of that alone which was already in his hand. He wanted to achieve more in this very life. Had he yet done anything to show the miraculous power of truth in him? How much could he do now? Husain’s funeral was attended as no other funeral in South Africa has ever been. In an instant, there were thousands of Indians on the spot. Muslims, Hindus, Christians, all attended in large numbers. No one had gone to persuade them. They went of their own accord on hearing of the death. Hussain proved in the hour of his death that the children of India, Hindus, Muslims and Christians, are all one people. On Tuesday, there were no distinctions. People big and small, Madrasis, Bombazines, and Colonial-born Indians, all turned up to pay homage to the memory of a jewel of an Indian. Special trams emptied themselves in front of Mr. Dawad’s bungalow. Indian shops remained closed for two hours, and the Indian Market, too, with the permission of the Corporation.

Thus, Bhai Hussain, following truth, showed the invincible power of truth in this cruel Iron Age. Hussain Mian is not dead; he will live in the fragrance of his character. My pen will never tire of writing praises of Husain’s virtues. Numerous examples of his purity keep haunting my mind. I hope the readers will understand my purpose in this article. Let everyone be an Indian of the same stamp as Hussain. Let us all, young and old, emulate Bhai Husain’s conduct, no matter whether we are Hindus or Muslims. If we cherish his memory and follow in his footsteps, we shall cease to make distinctions among us. Let us hold on to truth and dedicate our all to the country’s cause. Though Bhai Hussain was on his death-bed, when Rustomjee Sheth went to visit him before starting again on the 16th on a pilgrimage to jail, he said, “Yes, uncle, you are going. If I could leave this bed, I too would go to jail with you. How happy I would be to die in jail for the sake of the country!” May India beget thousands of Hussain!  

 

Reference:

Indian Opinion, 1-10-1913