मेरा आजीवन कारावास / माझी जन्मठेप (स्वातंत्र्यवीर सावरकर - काले पानी का ऐतिहासिक संस्मरण)

In good old days our kings used to reward those who brought them good news with the
gift of golden bracelets. And the report of reverses could come to them only from the
mouth of the victorious enemy when he entered the palace and mounted on his chest. It
does not pay one to be such a coward." I gently rebuked my fellow prisoners in this
manner and prepared their minds to hear any news that came to them in natural course.
The wise among them became used, in the aftermath of war, to hear and understand
everything. They began to realise how the defeat of Turkey was a good dose to our
Mussulman friends in this prison, to take off their self-conceit and to change their angle
of vision towards India.
Yet the war was not without its detrimental effect on the health of all prisoners in
this jail, including the political prisoners whom it affected the most. Some suffered from
continuous solitary confinement; others from the insanitary conditions and the bad
climate of the Andamans; and all from lack of fresh air and wholesome food all along.
There were strong, well-built men of rugged constitution among the Punjabi and the Sikh
political prisoners who were the last to come in this jail. But they also suffered from
complete collapse of health in the conditions created by war. Within three or four years
the tallest among them were stricken with T. B., and became thin in body; others fell
victims to chronic dysentery, and others, again, thought seriously of suicide. Three or
four Sikhs died from T. B. before my very eyes. And I was kept for observation in the
hospital suspected of the same disease. I was sorely grieved when I saw them dropping
off one after another like dry autumnal leaves. I was to go the same way soon—I felt
within myself. It was, indeed, a miracle that, when they had dwindled and died within
three or four years, I could hold out for these eight or nine years.
Babu Jotish Chandra
A young man, Jotish Chandra by name, lay in ambush for the arrival of a German
submarine to take him off from the hands of the police who were on his track for revolu-
tionary crime in Bengal. He was a Bengali and a member of the terrorist organisation in
India. The police detected him and in the clash that followed, Jotish Chandra received a
bullet-wound in the leg. He was, thereafter, caught, tried and sentenced for transportation
to the Andaman*. One evening during the strike, the warder took the food to him to be
served on his plate. The prisoner in the room asked the warder first to remove the
chamber pot and clean it. And then he would take the food that the warder had brought
for him. I have already told you how the prisoner had to sit for stools in his own room
when he was locked inside. The warder asked him to go back into his room, and with the
help of jamadars and other officers managed to put the food inside and left. Mr. Barrie
made no inquiries about the incident. Jotish had to sleep the whole night beside the
stinking stools and in a small, ill-ventilated and closed room. This was not the first
experience of its kind for us, political prisoners, in this jail. But Jotish Babu's patience
had reached its breaking point. It was the proverbial last straw for him. He threw away
the food and went on hunger-strike. Within a few days he started passing blood in his
stools; and he was removed to the hospital. We were all pressing him hard to resume