MY JAIL EXPERIENCES-X

[Prof. Dr. Yogendra Yadav]

Prof. Dr. Yogendra Yadav

Gandhian Scholar

Gandhi Research Foundation, Jalgaon, Maharashtra, India

Contact No. – 09415777229, 094055338

E-mail- [e-mail];[e-mail]

 

 

 

MY JAIL EXPERIENCES-X

 

 

Adan was a young Somali soldier who was sentenced to ten years’ hard labour for desertion from the British Army, which he had joined during the War. He was transferred by the Aden Jail authorities. Adan had served four years when we were admitted. He was practically illiterate. He could read the Koran with difficulty, but could not copy it correctly, if at all. He was able to speak Urdu fairly fluently and was anxious to learn Urdu. With the permission of the Superintendent, I tried to teach him, but the learning of the alphabet proved too great a strain upon him and he left it. With all that he was quick-witted and sharp as a needle. He took the greatest interest in religious matters. He was a devout Mussalman, offered his prayers regularly including the midnight one, and never missed the Ramzan fast. The rosary was his constant companion. When he was free, he used to recite selections from the Koran. He would often engage me in a discussion on complete fasts according to the Hindu custom as also on ahimsa. He was a brave man. He was very courteous, but never cringing. He was of an excitable nature and, therefore, often quarreled with the bardasi or his fellow-warder. We had, therefore Sometimes to arbitrate between them. Being a soldier and amenable to reason, he would accept the award, but he would put his case boldly and cogently. Adan was the longest with us. I treasure Adan’s affection. He was most attentive to me. He would see to it that I got my food at the appointed time.

He was sad if I ever became ill and anticipated all my wants. He would not let me exert myself for anything. He was anxious to be discharged or at least to be transferred to Aden. I tried hard. I drew up petitions for him. The Superintendent too, tried his best. But the decision rested with the Aden authorities. Hope was held out to him that he would be discharged before the end of last year. I do hope he is already discharged. The little service I rendered gave rise to deep personal attachment. It was a sad parting when Adan was transferred to another part of the prison. I must not omit to mention that, when I was organizing spinning and carding in the jail, Adan, though one of his hands was disabled, helped most industriously at making slivers. He became very proficient in the art which he had come to like. As Shaba khan was replaced by Adan, Harkaran was replaced by Bhiwa. Much to our agreeable surprise, Bhiwa was a Mahar from Maharashtra and, therefore, an untouchable. Of all the warders we met he was perhaps the most industrious. The reader will be surprised to find that the canker of untouchability has not left even the jails untouched. Poor Bhiwa! He would not enter our cells without considerable hesitation. He would not touch our pots.

We quickly set him at rest by telling him that we had not only no prejudices against untouchables, but that we were trying our best to do away with the curse. Shankerlal Banker specially befriended him and made him feel perfectly at home with us. He permitted Bhiwa to be so familiar with him that the former would resent an angry word from Mr. Banker and the latter would even apologize. He induced Bhiwa to apply himself to studies and taught him also spinning. The result was that Bhiwa became, in an incredibly short space of time, an accomplished spinner and began so to like it that he thought of learning weaving, and earning his living through that occupation when he went out. I cultivated in the jail the habit of drinking hot water and lemon at 4.15 a. m. When I protested against Mr. Banker doing it for me, he initiated Bhiwa into the mystery. Prisoners, though they get up early enough, do not like to leave their matting (which is their bed) at that early hour. Bhiwa, however, immediately responded to his friend’s suggestion. But it was Mr. Banker’s business always to wake up Bhiwa at 4 o’clock. When Bhiwa went (he was discharged under special remission), Adan undertook the duty. He will not listen to my doing it I. And the tradition was kept up even after Mr. Tanker’s discharge, each outgoing warder initiating the incoming one into all the mysteries.

Needless to say, this morning duty was no part of the prison task. Indeed, convicts when they became warders were not expected to do any labour at all. Theirs is but to order. Even as the best of friends must part some day, Bhiwa bade good-bye. He was permitted to receive from Mr. Banker khaddar caps, khaddar dhotis, khaddar vests and a khaddar blanket. He promised to wear nothing but khaddar outside. Let me hope good Bhiwa, wherever he may be, is keeping the promise. Bhiwa was followed by Thamu. He too belonged to Maharashtra. Thamu was a mild-mannered warder. He had not much ‘gone’ in him. He would do what he was asked, but did not believe in specially exerting himself. He and Adan, therefore, did not get on quite well together. But Thamu, being timid, always yielded to Adan in the end. He had such a royal time (all had) with us that Thamu did not want to be separated from us. He, therefore, preferred to bear Adan’s hard yoke to being transferred. Thamu having come to us a considerable time after Adan, the latter was Thamu’s senior with us. It is remarkable how these fictitious seniorities spring up in little places like jails. Yeravda was to us a whole world or, better still, the whole world. Every squabble, every little jar, was a mighty event commanding sustained interest for the day and sometimes even for days. If the jail authorities permitted a jail newspaper to be conducted by the prisoners and for them, it would have a cent per cent circulation, and such toothsome news as properly-cooked dhal, well-dressed vegetables, and sensational items as war of words between prisoners, sometimes even resulting in blows and consequent khatal (trial) before the Superintendent, would be as eagerly devoured by the prisoners as the news of big dinner parties and great wars are devoured by the public outside.

I make the present of a suggestion to enterprising members of the Assembly that, if they desire fame, they cannot do better than introduce a bill requiring Superintendents of jails to permit the publishing and editing of newspapers by prisoners exclusively for their own use and under strict censorship by the authorities. To return to Thamu, though he was flabby, as a man he was otherwise as good as any of his predecessors. He took to the charkha like fish to water. In a week’s time, he pulled a more even thread than I did. And after a month, the pupil out-distanced the teacher by a long way So much so that I grew jealous of Thamu’s superiority. I saw too from Thamu’s rapid progress that my slow progress was a peculiar defect of. Mine and that an ordinary person could pull a perfect thread in a month at the outside. Every one of those who were taught by me excited me in no time. To Thamu as to Bhiwa, the spinning- wheel had become a welcome companion. They were able to drown the sorrows of separation from their nearest in the soft and gentle music of the wheel. Later on, spinning became Thamu’s first work in the morning. He span at the rate of four hours per day. When we were shifted to the European yard, there were several changes. Among them was a change of warders. Adan was the first to be transferred. Though neither he nor we liked it, we took his transfer bravely. Then came Thamu’s turn. Poor fellow, he broke down. He wanted me to try to keep him. I would not do that. I thought it was beyond my province. The authorities had a perfect right to shift whom and where they would. Adan and Thamu were followed by Kunti, a Gurkha, and Canaries by name Gangappa. The Gurkha was called Gorkha by everybody. He was reserved, but grew ‘chummy’ later on. For the first few days, he did not know where he was.

Probably he thought we would report and involve him on the slightest pretext. But when he saw that we meant no mischief, he came closer to us. But he was soon transferred. Gangappa I have partly described in the introduction to the jail correspondence. He was an elderly man. His almost punctilious observance of rules and his great devotion to duty commanded my admiration. He put his whole soul into whatever he was ordered by the authorities to do. He took up duties which he need not have. He rarely remained idle. He learnt to make and cook chapatis for my companions. His devotion to me personally I shall never forget. No wife or sister could be more unsparing than Gangappa in his attention. He was awake at all times. He took delight in anticipating my wants. He saw to it that all my things were kept spotlessly clean. During my illness, he was my most efficient nurse, because he was the most attentive. When we were transferred to the European yard, Messrs Mansar Ali and Yagnik used to join me at prayer time. Mr. Mansar Ali was transferred to Allahabad for his discharge in due course. Mr. Yagnik, because he needed more intensive and philosophical rather than devotional meditation, dropped out.

Gangappa felt that without these friends I would feel lonely at prayer. The very first time that he saw that I was alone at prayer; he quietly took his seat in front of me. Needless to say, I appreciated the delicate courtesy underlying the action. It was so spontaneous, inofficiously, and natural for Gangappa I do not call it religious in the accepted sense of the term, though, according to my conception, it was truly religious. I always hesitate to invite anybody to these prayer meetings of mine. I did not want them to come for my sake. I did not feel lonely. I realized most at that time the companionship of God. If any one came, I wanted him not for keeping company but for sharing the divine companionship. I, therefore, particularly hesitated to invite the warders. I felt they might join merely out of form, whereas I wanted them to join only if they naturally felt like joining. With Gangappa it was a mixture of pity for me in my loneliness and desire to share with me the sacred half-hour, though he could understand not a word of what I sang save, of course, Ramanama. Gangappa drew to the prayer meeting another warder, Annappa, also Canaries, and later, Ms Abdul Gani felt impelled to join. I imagine that Mr. Abdul Gani was unconsciously influenced by Gangappa unobtrusive act of joining me.

The reader will see that I had a uniformly happy experience of these convict-warders. I could not have wished for more devoted companions or more faithful attendants. Paid service would but be a patch upon this and that of friends could only equal it. And yet the pity of it is that society treats such men as criminals and outcastes because they had the misfortune to be convicted. I entirely endorse the remark of the Head Jailor, already quoted by me in a previous chapter, that there are in our jails many men who are better than those outside. The reader will now understand why I felt a pang when I heard that I was discharged, and most of the companions who had covered me with so much kindness and whom there was, in my opinion, no occasion to detain any longer in the jails were left behind. One word more and I must regretfully part with Gangappa. Gangappa always knew his limitations. He would not spin. He said he could not do it. His fingers had not the cunning for it. But he kept the work-room in order, cleaned my wheel and devoted all his spare time to sunning and cleaning the cotton for carding. Of all the many happy memories of my prison life, I know that those of the company of the convict-warders will perhaps linger the longest.