| |
Back
Reminiscences
Of Gandhi
In London And Delhi
- John Haynes Holmes
I first heard of Gandhi in 1922-more than a' quarter
of a century ago. I had at that time never heard his name, but found it by
chance in a magazine article which told the story of his achievements in South
Africa. From the moment I read this epic tale, Gandhi became the hero of my
life, the saviour of my soul. I proclaimed him, in a sermon which unexpectedly
went to India and beyond, "the greatest man in the world". How abundantly was my
faith vindicated in all that the Mahatma did and! said in the crowning glory of
his career!
Of course, I got into touch with Gandhi. Thus, I wrote him letters-very
presumptuous on my part, it now seems. But Gandhi responded, and I became his
friend and follower. Soon I was receiving and reading the weekly copies of Young
India. How excited I was when the chapters of his autobiography began to appear
in the columns of this paper. I at once cabled- Gandhi, asking if I might have
the rights to publish this work in the pages of a weekly paper, called Unity,
which I was editing at that time. He agreed at once, and the autobiography was
thus printed in full here in America. I later secured its publication in an
abbreviated form as a single volume edited by C. F. Andrews. The publisher
argued that Gandhi was not well enough known in this country to justify the
printing of the original text of so extended a work. Now there is a spate of
volumes about the Mahatma, and among them is the autobiography in full.
All this while I was close to Gandhi, but had never seen him. It happened, by
mere chance, that I was in Europe in the summer of 1931, which will be
remembered as the year of the Indian Round Table Conferences in London. Picking
up a German newspaper one day I read, to my vast astonishment and delight, that
Gandhiji was on his way to attend the Conference. Instantly I abandoned all my
plans of travel on the continent, and hastened to England. I could not miss this
unexpected opportunity to meet one whom I had so long revered! There, in Eng-
land, I met Charlie Andrews and Reginald Reynolds, and together we went to
Folkestone to meet the distinguished traveler from India. It was a cold, foggy,
rainy September day-typical English weather in the fall. I can remember
shivering as I stood on the pier-partly from the chill which penetrated my
bones, and partly from sheer nervousness at the prospect of at last coming face
to face with the great Indian, my friend.
The Channel boat was delayed by the fog. But suddenly we saw her nose pointing
through the heavy curtain of mist and rain. At last she was made fast to her
moorings, the gang-way was down, and I was the first aboard. As I entered the
cabin I saw Gandhiji sitting cross-legged on his bunk. Instantly he arose to
greet me,. and held me in. his embrace. Then, as his first word, he said: "Why
didn't you meet me at Marseilles?"-the port where he had disembarked to cross
the continent by train. He laughed with eager merriment as I tried to explain
that I felt I had no right to intrude upon him unduly. "You should have come,"
he said. "Then we could have talked."
But the train for London was waiting, so we must hurry. I remember my
consternation as I watched Gandhi going out unclad, as it seemed to me, into the
cold and wet of one of the worst days I had ever seen in England. He wore only a
loin cloth, a cotton shawl over his shoulders, and leather sandals on his bare
feet. Someone, as solicitous as I, had raised an umbrella over his uncovered
head. I trod behind him as we made our way from boat to train, and thought how
grotesque he looked. This was a very different figure from that presented
centuries be- fore by Julius Caesar and William of Normandy, when they landed on
these shores to conquer England. But here was a greater and nobler conqueror,
destined for mightier deeds. Yes, how little did I know that, in less than
sixteen years, India would be free and Gandhiji's victory won!
On arriving in London we went at once to the Friends Meeting House, where a good
audience had gathered to receive the distinguished visitor. Then there was the
long drive out to the East End, to Kingsley Hall, where Gandhi was going to
stay, as the guest of Muriel Lester, during his attendance on the Round Table.
With this there began a week when I was with Gandhi at intervals each day.
Certain memories stick right out! Thus there was the bright, sunny Sunday
morning when I talked alone with Gandhiji on the terrace of Kingsley Hall. I
recall how he enjoyed the warm sun, and how happy he seemed to be. Later on, I
spent a late afternoon with him on the same terrace as he ate his frugal but
nourishing supper. Then there is the Sunday evening when a group of us,
including tenement mothers from the neighbourhood, gathered about the Mahatma
while he talked to us about prayer as an exercise of the spiritual life. I think
also of our meeting in St. James's Palace, where the Round Table sessions were
being held, when we discussed pro and con the question of his coming to America.
" It was after this discussion that Gandhiji took me in his automobile for the
long ride out to Kingsley Hall. There were other occasions when I saw him. I
shall 'tell them in detail some day. But all too soon there came my sailing date
for America, and I had to say good-bye.
As I look back upon this week in London, I am amazed that I saw so much of the
Mahatma, and came so close . to him. Here was one of the busiest men in the
world. Upon him lay the burden of India in her quest for national independence.
Here in England he was attending the dally lessons of a conference of momentous
significance. In this conference he was grappling with the world's greatest
empire and, therewith was challenged to make decisions, interpret policies, and
offer leadership which affected the fate of millions of human beings. Gandhi sat
at the centre of the council table. He was pressed upon from every side-there
was no incident or instant which was, free of responsibility. Yet he seemed to
find it easy to meet and talk with this unimportant clergyman from America, and
to show him a hospitality which seem- ed to spring from a heart which had not a
care in the world. A part of the explanation lies in Gandhiji's humility, his
utter lack of pretension or pose. He had no need of spending time to maintain
his dignity or parade his importance. He was as simple as a child, and thus free
to do what he would. Along with these qualities, of course, went an affection, a
love of people, a concern for courtesy and kindness, which made him accessible
to all who would know his spirit and walk in his way. In all that week in
London, there was not a moment of hurry, not a trace of impatience. On the
contrary, there was a constant serenity and calm, a sweetness of temper, an
unquenchable good humour, which made him the most attractive and lovable of men.
In all that seething city, with its noise, confusion, and hurrying crowds, there
was at least one man who, in Matthew Arnold's phrase, was "self-poised and
independent still". .
Years passed, and I could reach Gandhiji only by letters. The correspondence
continued at long intervals. I had a feeling that I had no right to bother the
Mahatma with frequent communications. I must write only when I had something
definite to say. He always answered my letters, sometimes by his own hand,
sometimes by dictation to a secretary. I hoped that I might see him again, but
this seemed more and more unlikely as time went. The war imposed a kind of final
veto upon Gandhi's travelling west, or my travelling east. Then came to me,
right out of a clear sky, the invitation of the Watumull Foundation to go to
India on a lecture-trip to the schools and colleges. I accepted at once--and
wrote joy- fully to Gandhiji of what had happened. I shall never forget his
reply-the precious letter in which he wrote:
"You have given me not only exciting but welcome news. The news appears to be
almost too good to be true, and I am not going to believe it in its entirety
unless you are physically in India."
I left America for India on September 18, 1947, and arrived in Bombay, after ten
days in England, on Sunday, October 5th. On the Saturday following, I addressed
an enormous mass-meeting at Chowpatty beach in celebration of Gandhi's birthday.
On the following day, I went to New Delhi, and there met the Mahatma twice. The
first time was on the very day of my arrival in the capital. To my astonishment
and delight, I learned that he had already arranged an appointment in
anticipation of my coming, and I must go round at once to Birla House, to see
him.
I was ushered promptly into his presence-in the little room where he was
tragically fated to die within a few weeks. He seemed to be troubled by a
bronchial cough, and was wrapped in a cotton shawl, high about his neck. This
fell away as we talked, and I saw his chest and arms. I was amazed at what
seemed to be his superb physical condition. His skin was like a baby's, his
muscles firm and stout. I told him that he looked better than when I saw him
last in London, seventeen years before, and was pleased to be told that he was
ten pounds heavier than he had been at that time. We talked easily and in
formally together. I did not press him on the great and distressing events of
the hour. Of course I expressed my deep sympathy over the disorder, violence and
bloodshed which had been raging in the land, and could see how great was the
grief in his own heart. But he was not overborne. His courage was as great as
ever. And he trusted still in God. I t was an amazing experience to see this man
whose single influence was bringing peace again to his stricken land, and all so
quiet and simple. Here was the pure spirit, burning as a clear flame upon an
altar, to shed light in darkness.
The night of this first day I went to the six o'clock prayer-meeting in the
garden. The thought came to me, as I saw no police or soldiery in the place,
that assassination would be easy. But surely there could be no violence in this
lovely place and on this sacred occasion. Nor would Gandhi seek the protection
of arms. The hundreds of persons present were all worshippers, of different
races, religions and languages, but one in the spirit of the Mahatma. Their
reverence was a beautiful thing to see.
I saw Gandhiji a second time at the end of the week. I was leaving for South
India, and then for a long trip east- ward to Calcutta. I confidently expected
to return, and see Gandhiji for one last, long communion of mind and heart. So
this was just a good-bye, and to me a kind of benediction. Gandhiji was tired
that afternoon-he received me without appointment, and to the interruption, I
fear, of important work. But he was never more gentle and kind, and his
conversation was full of vigour. But I did not stay long. As I rose to go, he
told me that I must surely see him again. I promised to come back, if my
schedule permitted. But, alas, I never saw him again, but had to content myself
with a long letter of farewell, written from Calcutta. .
I had a leisurely journey, flying the vast stretches of the Pacific Ocean. I
stopped a few days in Tokyo, a week in Honolulu, five days in Los Angeles, then
by train across the continent to New York. I went promptly to my study, to take
up the work which had long been awaiting my return. And there, right on top of
my great accumulation of mail, was a long letter from Gandhiji, placed there
reverently by my secretary, that this might be my welcome home.
A few days later-the assassination! And the greatest chapter of my life was
closed.
New York, 1-10-1948.
|
|
 |
