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

Nani Gopal was spared the ordeal made us all happy, but he himself felt bitterly
disappointed. For he was determined to bear the caning and hold out to the end. He was
flush with it and now it had all gone. His courage extorted the admiration of his enemies.
He was taken out of our midst and far away, perhaps with the belief that they would be
able to tame him down in the new prison. Soon they discovered how mistaken they were
in this belief. For, in that new place he at once went on
hunger strike.
When Nani Gopal was among us, we had all along tried our best to dissuade him
from that step. For three days he went in that prison without a particle of food. But none
paid the slightest attention to him. He did not eat and he did not speak. He lay on the
ground without food and water. He was brought back to the Silver Jail, but he would not
give up. Some five or six days it had continued like this, when they forced the food into
him through a tube, as was allowed by the regulations of the prison. He was made to
inhale milk through the nose. While this was going on in the prison itself, something
happened outside that fell upon us like a bomb-shell.
The political prisoners detailed for outside work went about from district to
district and established contact with those who had become free and set up a house for
themselves over the entire settlement. This was strictly for-bidden by law, though all
prisoners without exception fully availed themselves of the opportunity of work outside
to move freely among the people in the locality where they worked. The political
prisoners were specially interested in the spread of Swadeshi among those with whom
they came in contact and to get from them bits of news which they would communicate
to us inside the prison. There were in the settlement families of former prisoners of the
Silver Jail. The. new generation among them were free citizens and as such got reports of
happenings in India without let or hindrance. We spread through them, by poems and
articles, the spirit of Swadeshi all over the settlement. The articles sent out by us through
this agency assumed the form of a circulating newspaper, and it helped to build up the
influence of political prisoners in the world around them. The news of this spreading
influence was carried to the ears of the authorities in an exaggerated manner, so that,
before long, it was interpreted by them as a regular conspiracy. By this time, the letters
surreptitiously passed from here to India about the suicide of Indu Bhushan and the
insanity of Ullas, had gone to their proper quarters. And they found their place and
publicity in the newspaper world of India. This fact and the knowledge of it in the jail
itself created a flutter in the official dovecotes. Even the most commonplace news was to
us, prisoners of the Andamans, good tidings of great joy. A question about us in the
Legislative Council gave us the strength and the hope to bear it all with patience here for
a month following. For, we had begun to think of ourselves as the neglected ones of the
earth, whom any one could trample under foot with impunity; it had filled us with dark
despair about our life. This news came as a ray of hope to illumine that darkness. And
hope revived and with it courage, when we realised that our sufferings were not all in

vain, but had in them the power to stir other men even as a drop of oil serves to flare up
the burning fire into flame.
And it happened like that on the day about which I am writing. Who must have
sent the news to India and carried the letters, was a matter of discussion among the jail
authorities. And as they could not get at the source, they became more irritated than ever.
Days went on in this way when I was informed in reply to my former petitions that I was
allowed to move out, and the officers would send me out on the following Monday. I was
surprised at the reply! I felt that my brother also would be allowed to go out. I learnt by
heart all the lines of poetry that I had scribbled on the walls of my room, and waited for
the promised Monday to arrive. I was not sure all the, same that they would keep their
word, Monday dawned. Some prisoners were sent out, and I was not among them. I lay
confined in my own cell. On the third day the Superintendent came to me, and I asked
him about it. As he was honest of word, he felt shamed of himself as he was the man who
had given me the news of the promised relief. The Chief Commissioner, he said, had
gone to Rangoon and that I would know about it after his return. I felt doubtful about it.
The Commissioner had gone to Rangoon to see the Lieutnent Governor, and, as soon as
he had returned, there began one fine morning a regular campaign of arrest in the
Andamans instead of my being sent out of the Silver Jail as promised by the
Superintendent when he saw me last.
Mass arrests
Some were manacled, others were detained, and others again had their rooms
searched. Prom the political prisoners the campaign spread out to the houses of free
citizens, of Jamadars and tindels. The search and arrest party was manned entirely by
European officers. And it did its work with terrible efficiency. It threatened, it shouted, it
scolded and it terrorised, till the whole of the colony was stricken with nervousness and
fear. The cause of all this noise and fury was that the officers had information of a bomb-
factory started in the island by political prisoners working in the settlement. And it was
not altogether without foundation. But the search and the arrests afforded no clue to it.
Even a cracker did not come out in the search, not to speak of a bomb. The informant was
a Bengali gentleman, Lalmohan by name. On two other occasions he had similarly put
the Officers on a false trail. The officers were, of course, furious with him. It was the
same warder who was suspected by them of delivering Hotilal's letter from the prison to
its proper quarters. The warder had perhaps raised the canard to propitiate the gods he
had displeased. However that be, the political prisoners suffered terribly by this tale-
telling of Lalmohan. Rumours were afloat that a bomb was found in an adjoining brook;
that letters were intercepted by the police containing the plan of chartering boats to take
the prisoners across the seas. No one was sure of what he was saying and what he had
heard. The only thing one was sure of was the wholesale arrest of political prisoners and
their being clapped back into their cells. Now we knew why the Chief Commissioner had
gone to Rangoon. Mr. Barrie's stock went high up in the market. He dared say to the
Commissioner himself that he was always telling him that these were dangerous men and

never to be trusted. But, he continued, the Commissioner had always blamed him. They
did not behave well even to him. They deserved nothing but kicks.
It gave me great anxiety about the future in store for me. I had already suffered
enough in one conspiracy case, and I feared what this case would bring to me. We had
already been on transportation for life, my life-sentence was fifty years. The Gods that
did me that ill-turn may involve me in this and deal even worse with me. I never more
thought of being sent out in the settlement. The manufacturing of bombs and the
chartering of boats had made that out of question. The officers behaved insolently
towards me and told me openly that I should no more think of it. They had final orders
from the Government of India that I was not to be released from this jail till I had run my
full sentence of fifty years or till I was dead before that time.
Who can describe the state of their mind, when these political prisoners heard
these words from their officers? Some like me on life-sentence, all utterly helpless and
locked up in their respective cells, with this new charge possibly hanging over their
heads, and the nature of that charge still a mystery to them ! A few days passed in this
disordered and apprehensive state of mind, and they could not see their way out of it.
But this bewilderment continued no further and we were soon able to plan our
future course. First of all, we made up our minds to entertain no unnecessary fears. Next,
three of us were to write to the authorities to let them know definitely what the charge
against them was. Thirdly, if our offence was bomb-making, plotting to escape from this
place, conspiracy, or general revolt, we were to ask them to start criminal prosecution
against us. The suspicion was, of course, against those of us who had been working
outside the prison and the petition was forwarded in their names. They got a reply that the
officers had not sufficient evidence in their hands to launch a prosecution. Then they
insisted on work outside the prison, when they were warned not to think of it. The
ordinary suits in the Andamans were filed before a court without a pleader to conduct
either the prosecution or the defence, without either assessors or a jury. And if a man like
Mr. Barrie, who was an expert in concocting evidence, could not prosecute us before
such a court, the conclusion was inescapable that the whole story must be both imaginary
and exaggerated. But whatever the nature of the evidence, it was enough to damn us with
the Government of India. For, it would afford them material enough to send highly
coloured reports about miscreants in this prison so that they could be doomed for life to
rot in this jail. It was particularly so in an individual case like mine.
We have said above how our letters had reached India and how their publication
in the newspaper had created a stir there. To this was added the report of a bomb-factory
in the Andamans. The Government of India, therefore, decided to depute their own
officer to ascertain the truth behind these two reports. And no less a person than the
Home Member himself—Sir Reginald Craddock, afterwards Governor of Burma—
undertook the voyage on that mission.

Usually, the arrival of such an officer to the Andamans, in itself a very rare
occurrence, was kept a close secret from the inmates of the Silver Jail. None knew his
name; often he came as a stranger and went as a stranger. His inspection of the prison
was almost a farce, for the prisoners were seldom asked questions or gave answers. They
looked upon him as a casual visitor and never took him seriously. He, therefore, did not
know their real grievances and was often guided by those who chaperoned him. As a
result, he went back to report that all was well in the Andamans, and there everything
ended.
But, this time the political prisoners had got previous news of the arrival of the
Home Member to the Andamans. And they were prepared to make the full use of this
opportunity. They informed the jail authorities that some of us wanted to have a personal
talk with that distinguished visitor. The authorities asked them how they had come to
know of his impending visit, and who had told them about it. But we were not to be
cowed down by such threats. When the officer was going the round of our prison, he was
sure to pass by our cells. And if we were not allowed to talk to him, we had decided to
invite his attention to us by raising a hullabaloo as he went along our blocks. It was no
matter to us if we were punished for it after the event. They had tried this method on
former occasions and suffered punishment for it. But 1913 was different in this respect
from all the years before it.
Sir Reginald Craddock came
A few prisoners were called out to meet him. Questions were put and answered.
Some were told that they were the enemies of government and deserved nothing short of
death. Others were told that they should never talk of being sent out for they were
sentenced for high treason and they had conspired against the King. When some of us
asked for proofs, the answer was that though they could not prove, they knew enough of
it. My interview with Sir Reginald began on a different note altogether. Sir Reginald
began, "Savarkar, to what a wretched state have you reduced yourself? I have studied all
your books. If you had applied all your talents to nobler ends, there was no high place in
Government service which was beyond you to fill and adorn. But you chose to fall into
this wretched condition. To which I answered, "I am grateful to you for your kind wishes.
I may tell you, however, that it is entirely in your hands to take me out of this. Mr.
Gokhale has just brought in his resolution on compulsory education in the Imperial
Legislative Council. If it is accepted by Government, and if such measures of progress
are assured to my people that they may rise as a nation, then not only myself but all my
friends who are dubbed as revolutionaries will be ready to turn to the path of peace. They
must be thinking similarly, I feel sure, as I am speaking to you now."
Sir Reginald : How do you know this? Do you know where they are?

Myself : How is that possible? Am I not here confined in a solitary cell, and under your
close watch and ward? But I know their minds as they know mine, and hence I draw this
inference. If we advance definitely through methods of peace, it is immoral for us to enter
on methods of violence. That is a principle with me, and I feel sure it 'is equally sound to
them.
Sir Reginald: I am sorry you are entirely wrong there, for they are still advocating
terrorism and they still swear by you. In India and in America your followers are still
busy with their plans of secret societies and revolutionary activities.
Myself : I know it for the first time from you. How can I prevent any one from swearing
by me? Why do you take it that I can influence them from here for the simple reason that
they call me their leader? (The reference here was to the Gadar movement and its
newspaper in America started by Har Dayal and other members of the Abhinav Bharat
Mandal)
Sir Reginald: (after a little conversation on the subject) If you are really prepared to
stand by what you have said just now, I may think of permitting you to write a letter
embodying your views.
Myself : I shall be very glad indeed to write such a letter. But it must be sent by me
independently.
Sir Reginald : It must go through us or through me at least
Myself : Will it not mean that it was written under your pressure? I should write, I think,
independently.
Sir Reginald : I cannot allow it.
Myself : Then, I am sorry, I cannot write it, for I feel that to write through your
government will make it suspect.
Sir Reginald : (Looking at me closely as if we thoroughly understood each other):
Well, what are your grievances? May I know them?

I then told him the full story of sufferings in the Silver Jail. I also described to him
the disabilities and hardships of political prisoners as well, when the Chief Commissioner
who was present on the occasion interposed, "But you, political prisoner, have you not
murdered? Are you not violent? Have you not conspired to destroy the Government in
power? If Russia were ruling here, they would all have been sent to Siberia or
straightaway shot in the back. It is the British Government that is treating you so
leniently. And it is your good fortune that you are under that Government."
Myself : I am sure, however, that Russia would not have disarmed India. Today Russia
enrolls inhabitants in Siberia as well as foreigners in its army, and appoints them to
responsible military posts. And it would have appointed Indians to the same posts, and if
it had treated us as you do, we would have beaten them, as we beat and conquered the
Mogal Emperors of India.
Sir Reginald : Your Hindu Rajas would have treated you much worse than we are
alleged to be treating you now. Do you not know how they tied rebels to the foot of an
elephant and crushed them?
Myself: Yes, I know it. And I know also that in England they dragged a prisoner along
the street for felony and hanged him. But these are things of the past by which none
should swear today. You don't hang a thief today in England. The fact is that the benefits
of civilisation, wherever they may originate, are shared by all alike. Formerly a
traitor was I trampled under the foot of an elephant, but the victor punished a king by
sending him to the block. Charles I and the English rebellion are instances in point. On
both the sides the rule now is to follow civilized methods and, as you seemed to
agree with us, we appeal to you to treat and judge us accordingly. If you say that you will
treat us barbarously, we shall face the situation as best as we can.
After this long digression into history, we returned to the main subject. Some
questions and answers passed between us about the management of the prisoners in our
jail. Finally, I was told that the Government of India would reply, as it thought fit, on the
subject under discussion. Sir Reginald Craddock came and went. But no reply was sent to
us from India. The authorities in the Andamans told us to be satisfied with the interview,
and reconcile ourselves to the status quo. But we decided that something had to be done,
we could not take it lying low. With this decision made, we went on strike for the third
time.
The Third Strike
Except one or two, all of us struck work. Sentence after sentence was passed upon
us of six months' imprisonment in chains. It was now one month and a half that Nani

Gopal had gone on hunger strike. Only a little quantity of milk was daily administered to
him through the nose. He was reduced to skin and bones. Even then this lad was
sentenced to stand for a whole week with chains on his hands and feet. But he remained
firm, nothing could deter him. But others, deeply touched by his sufferings—some six or
seven in number—went on sympathetic hunger strike. They were put in chains and
subjected to similar punishment. I had, by this time, my expected letter from India. But it
was not given to me on the ground that it contained some objectionable matter. And I
immediately joined in the strike. I was sentenced to stand for two weeks in a framework
of fetters for my feet. This punishment was followed by chains for hands and feet
interlinked with a chain between them. My informants told me the contents of that
objectionable letter. There was in it a reference to the criticism of Keir Hardie in
Parliament on my imprisonment in this jail.

Keir Hardie's Criticism

The gist of that criticism was that while in Ireland the Government had
taken no steps against those who had threatened open rebellion, who had raised armies to
fight the partisans of Home Rule on the soil of England, a man like Savarkar, whose only
crime had been to distribute pistols among his fellow-conspirators, was sentenced by the
Indian Government to fifty years' transportation to the Andamans. If I had received the
letter, the jailor felt, that criticism in particular against my incarceration might go to our
heads and it might lead to the intensification of strike in that jail. Hence the letter was
withheld from me. In the manifesto about the strike, we had made three principal
demands : (1) That, as political prisoners, we should have all the privileges of the first
class, (2) that we should, otherwise, be put in the category of ordinary prisoners, given all
the facilities accorded to them and the periodical visit to this jail be permitted to members
of our families; or (3) we should be sent back to serve our term in the jails of India, so
that we may get all the facilities of that jail life, including reduction in the period of the
sentence on certificate of good behaviour. During the strike we defied all ordinary
regulations of the prison. We were locked up separately and under strict guard. So it had
become difficult for us to communicate with one another. Even "the telephone
method" described in previous pages was no longer available to us. It broke down
completely because we could not reach the iron-grating near the floor of our cell and in
the wall to talk. Well, if the telephone had stopped, we hit upon the method of telegraph,
and that again of the wireless telegraph. It went on splendidly for a long time. We had
shackles on our feet and they had manacles on their hands. We rang them on the bars of
our doors according to a particular code. And the news went round not only through the
three or four adjoining rooms but through all the storeys of the near-by blocks. And in
this mode of communication there was no scope for the warders to betray us. We carried
on the communication in English to start with. My brother remodelled it into Nagari.
Thus we had a pure Swadeshi telegraphic code and message to run through the whole
building. Marconi may have invented the wireless for the world. My brother hit upon the
plan for our prison before Marconi's invention had reached the world of the Andamans.

Oh, Now I remember
By the way, as I am writing, I remember what the Capital of Calcutta had written
about my brother. It had published the news that my brother had been appointed in this
jail to run the wireless. You will please understand, my reader, that the news was not
altogether without foundation! In vain, did we threaten the Capital with a suit and exact
its apology! Yes, my brother was, indeed, working the code; the mistake lay in the fact
that he communicated by it with two or three rooms close by, and not, as it had alleged,
with Germany during the outbreak of the first World War. But what is 'space' and 'time'
to the philosopher of the Capital ?
We conveyed our messages through this device to all the political prisoners in our
jail, and whatever we pro posed to do, we did, all as one man. Mr. Barrie was ever at the
throat of the warders to extort how the communication was effected and how combined
action was undertaken. The Pathan warders were ignorant blockheads. They made no
head or tail out of the sounds they heard, They did not grasp why the handcuffs were
sounded or knocked in a particular manner. If any one of them shouted out to enquire, we
said we were keeping tune to the singing of religious songs, which we recited inwardly.
At last one of them suspected foul play. He made out sound responding to sound in
regular sequence all. over the building and in the rooms of the prisoners. And he reported
his suspicion to Mr. Barrie. One night Mr. Barrie went silently over all the blocks in the
building. He heard these sounds and their rhythmic beats. It was not difficult for him to
make out what it was. He went back with an order to the warders not to let the devils
make these noises. But who would listen to the warders? Who would obey the order?
Were we not out for passive resistance?
During this period of noise and disobedience, we were every day taken out for our
dinner for one hour in the morning and one hour in the evening. Mr. Barrie kept standing
before us during the hour, lest we might talk to one another. For two or three days at the
beginning, everything went on quietly. On the fifth day, however, while all of us had sat
down to our meal and we were however, while all of us had sat down to our meal and we
were eating it, each from his own plate, we heard some one lecturing to us. The opening
words that fell on our ears were,
"Brothers ! We are free !"
Every one was startled and looked up. And behold, here was Nani Gopal who had
uttered the words to defy the 'silence' order of Mr. Barrie. And he went on "Brethren, we
are all born free. It is our birthright to speak to one another with love and kind greetings.
If an enemy were to deprive us of that right, we must challenge him. Here I am speaking
to you and will continue speaking." Hardly had these words escaped his lips, when,
bursting with rage, Mr. Barrie, Mirza Khan and the Pathan warder rushed at him. Nothing

daunted, Nani Gopal went on with his eloquent discourse. He was lifted up bodily out of
us and locked in the room. Still he had kept on talking and had not finished his
peroration. The political prisoners could not contain themselves for laughter, and Mr.
Barrie's anger knew no bounds.
Pathan or Hindu
Mirza Khan presently came to my room. He could not hold his peace; he seemed
eager to unburden his heart to me, and said, "Bada Babu, that young fellow is your true
disciple, I mean Nani Gopal. He is loyal to the core. His daring becomes a Pathan like me
more than any one else. He is verily a Pathan lad." I answered, "Bada Jamadar, you are
wrong. Your father was a Pathan and you are a Pathan. If he were a Pathan, he would not
have rotten in this jail for the sake of his country; he would have, like you, licked the
shoes of Mr. Barrie and would not have defied him. If Mr. Barrie said it was night you
would say ' yea ' to him even though it was day. It is because Nani Gopal is a born Hindu
that he is so brave. I am full of admiration for his daring and intelligence. But if all the
Pathans were brave and all the Hindus were cowards, how could the Hindus have
overthrown the Pathan or the Mussulman Raj in India?
The Hunger Strike Ends
I was always against the suicidal policy of hunger-strike, as I regarded it as
ruinous to the individual and ruinous to the cause. That was not the way to fight the
enemy, I maintained strongly. My view had its desired effect on the mind of our friends
and they gave up the hunger-strike. The hardest nut to crack was Nani Gopal. He would
not yield. He was on the verge of death. I, therefore, employed an extreme measure to
overcome his resistance. I threatened him with hunger-strike if he would not give up his
own. And the following day I acted up to my word.
I went on hunger-strike
The news that I had stopped taking my food went like wild fire round the prison.
The officers were full of fear. It was all stir and excitement among them. The Cheif
Commissioner expostulated with the Superintendent to put an end to it. I was tried for
this new offence. But in the trial, instead of punishing me, they exhorted me to break the
fast. I told them why I had gone on hunger-strike, and asked them to permit me to speak
to Nani Gopal. When Nani heard the news that I had declared three days' hunger-strike,
he was stricken with grief. I was taken to his cell by Mr. Barrie. I saw him and he agreed
to break his fast. I took him aside and whispered, "Do not die like a woman; if you must
needs die, die fighting like a hero. Kill your enemy and then take leave of this world."

He dines and I break my fast.
From this time onwards we had our two meals and had plenty of coconuts to eat
in addition to them. The quantity of daily ration had been reduced for strikers. Yet they
consumed it all and would not work. Why do you starve yourselves? Take as much food
from them as you can, grow fat and don't work. This was the mantra I gave them, and
they followed it to the letter. All forms of punishment by the jailor were exhausted in our
case. And we were hauled up before the Magistrate. Some got two months, some four,
and Nani Gopal was given one year's rigorous punishment. But the strike continued all
the same. At last the Government of India had to come out with a special notification on
the subject. It was about the new order of things affecting us as political prisoners in the
Silver Jail of the Andamans.
The New Order
What did the notification say? What was there in it so that our officers read it out
to us so grandiloquently? Well, the following were some important items in that
notification :—
(1) All the prisoners who were sentenced to a definite period of time, short of life-
sentence shall be sent back to their respective prisons in India, where the remission of
their sentences will be duly considered and followed,
(2) Prisoners on life-sentence shall be detained in this prison for a continuous period
of fourteen years, whereafter they will be set free for some labour of a light character.
This shall operate only in the case of those prisoners who give proof of good behaviour
during their period of incarceration.
(3) During the period of fourteen years, the prisoner shall be given decent food to
eat, and decent and decent clothes to wear. After five years, he shall be allowed to cook
his own food and given from twelve annas to a rupee per month as his pocket allowance.
The end of the third strike
From the concessions granted in the notification it is easy to realise that many of
them had conformed to the demands made by the strikers. Although the notification had
stated that the order was final, we knew what to think of them, for, in the opinion of the
political prisoners, nothing was a settled fact that could not be unsettled. However, we

decided to accept what had come to us, and to end the dispute for the present. We,
therefore, called off the strike and resumed work.
Soon after, the term-convicts began to be sent back to the prisons in India. We,
who were left behind, did not fail to remind them that in India they must give as much
publicity as they could to the prevailing harsh condition in the Andamans, and, with
every chalan despatched to the Andamans, they had to send us news from India. As these
political prisoners were distributed all over India, it was easier for them to do this double
work. And be it said to their credit that they did their part remarkably well. After the exit
of the term-convicts, those who had remained behind on life-sentence like me were very
few in number. There were one or two term-convicts still with us. We were all allowed in
batches to cook our own food. As such we got clean and well-cooked food to eat. Some
of us were detailed for work in the printing press, in the library, and on map-drawing, of
which we shall write in its due place. And each of them earned about Rs. 10 a month
from such work. Those who had not seen a single rupee since their incarceration, had
now with them five to ten rupees every month, a change in their status equivalent to that
of a millionaire among beggars. So many of those were at their beck and call for anything
they needed. Don't think it was a miracle. That was bound to happen in a prison like the
Silver Jail, and in a place like the Andamans.
About those on life-sentence
All this was no less than a revolution in the life of a political prisoner. But to what
extent was I benefited by it? Not very much indeed ! I was given no writing work to do. I
was not appointed to supervise any factory. The only satisfaction I had was to see my
friends in better condition than myself. Myself and my brother had to weave the same
strand, and do the same work. Later on, my brother and Wamanrao Joshi were transferred
to the cooking department, and they cooked for all of us. I was the same solitary prisoner,
in the same solitary cell, and in the same block No. 7. The administration of the Silver
Jail in my time had one policy to follow and Mr. Barrie had defined it to me many times
before. The keynote of that policy was that " Savarkar was the father of unrest in the
Andamans; he was to be given no quarter and shown no mercy.”
We have reached the year 1914 in our narrative. Here ends the first part of the
history of our agitation in the Andamans. The political prisoners in the Silver Jail were
mainly responsible for that agitation. We now enter on an epoch fraught with immense
changes in the world as the result of the first World War, It had also its repercussions,
mainly political, in India. And these affected, in no small degree, life in the Andamans as
well, and changed the course of its future history. In the years till 1914, the political
prisoners had directed all the energy of their mind and will to improve their own
condition in the prison-life of the Andamans. And the first part of our narrative describes
that struggle. After 1914, they concentrated their work on the awakening of the people in
the Andamans and on putting new life into them. This remarkable difference between the

two periods naturally divides our narrative also. We end its first part here, and will give
the rest of the story in the part that follows.
End of Chapter XVI
End of Part I

Part II
CHAPTER I
Consolidation and propaganda in the Andamans
In the first part of this narrative I have given an account, not of prisoner's life and
condition only but mainly that of the political convicts in the prison-house of the
Andamans. The story is brought down to the year 1914. The struggle, the courage, the
tenacity of will, and the fight for principle of the political prisoners during the period, had
their effect on other Hindu prisoners in that jail and had instilled into them the spirit of
social and co-operative endeavour. They had gradually begun to realise the meaning and
significance of words like 'country', 'religion', and 'service' in relation to themselves and
to the larger community of which they were also social units. The Mussulman Warder as
also the Mussulman prisoner had each his copy of the Koran to read in the jail. And,
sometimes they apparently read the Koran to put off their normal work. This facility was
denied to their Hindu brethren in that jail. These had no religious books given them to
read and understand. They could keep none of them themselves; and it was an offence to
read them openly. Either the superior officer strictly banned them, or the lesser man—the
Mussulman Jamadar—would not get them any copy of their religious scriptures. If a few
of them even on a holiday gathered together sometime to read and hear the Ramayana of
Tulsidas, the Muslim warder or Jamadar would suddenly disperse the assembly by force
and loud abuse. I had seen these happenings myself, and several times. Looking at the
pictures in such a book, they denounced as indecent; and they regarded it as a religious
duty not to allow prisoners to see and read such stuff. Not tolerating such interference and
coercion, the political prisoners often carried the matter to the superior officers. And this
knocking at the door resulted, in the long run, in the prisoners' freedom to keep a
religious book. After his day's work, from that time onwards, the prisoner could openly
keep also a slate and pencil to con his alphabets and write them.
There was extreme partiality on the part of the authorities as regards their
holidays. On a Mohammedan holiday, the Mussulman prisoner was allowed to spend the
whole day in idleness and free talk with his fellow-men. The Hindu prisoner, on the other
hand, got very few holidays in the first instance. Some holidays were not even recognised
as holidays for Hindu prisoners of that jail. And when they got the holiday at all, their
warders and jamadars gave them the Hobson's choice of work or solitary confinement in
their own cells. The prisoners at this threat went quietly to work for they knew by
experience what the other alternative had meant for them. To put an end to this glaring
partiality, I induced all of them to stop work and also joined them in the strike. When the
Superintendent came on the spot and found the atmosphere too hot for him, he turned to
me and spouted, "The Hindus shall have their due holidays but they must not make such a

grievance of it. If they do so again, they shall be handled severely. I forgive them now for
I do not ordinarily like to punish them."
As I have written above, the prisoners were given the facility of keeping a slate
and pencil. The question remained of procuring books for them. The ordinary prisoners
came as a rule from families ignorant of books. If they ordered books, they would get
instead parcels of rich pairs of shoes, never a book worth two annas apiece ! To ask
Government to provide books for them to learn their three R's, was bound to prove mere
waste of ink and paper. That a book or two was spared them was in itself an act of favour.
I, therefore, got these books through our own parcels from home, and distributed them
widely among these prisoners. Elementary books of geography and history, readers and
books on arithmetic—these I gave them. And days passed on in this arrangement.
Soon we set up a central organisation to do the work with method and precision.
I have already told of the beginning we had made to take within our fold, by
solemn oath and declaration, prisoners who had no training whatever in the political work
they had done. I have also narrated the efforts made to educate them in the ideals of
social service which included the service of their country. I had begun later on to
include in that organisation ordinary prisoners as well, and to instil into them similar
principles. These prisoners when they went for outside work after six months' or one
year's stay in that prison, started similar organisations in the centres of their work. It
was these organisations which imposed a rising scale of fees from one anna in a rupee to
eight annas in five rupees, as an educational cess, on persons in their respective localities.
Some of the skilled political prisoners earned as much as forty rupees a month. And when
the political prisoners had won freedom for work outside, they spread the net wider and
got ordinary traders and other independent men to subscribe to this education fund, and
also to interest themselves in the general politics of their country. Those who were
pledged by solemn oath to carry on the task, had also done their work splendidly in the
districts where they went. The political prisoners and others had got themselves acquaint-
ed with the independent settlers in these islands. These had come there on business or on
mechanical jobs in factories, as doctors and lawyers, or as officers in other lines of
service. They were all, more or less, educated men, and they also, as the result of our
acquaintance with them, had pledged themselves to Swadeshi. They paid five per cent, of
their monthly income to our organisation. Some of them took advantage of our institution
to learn Hindi, both to read and write. We had organised a library of select books on
Constitutional History, on the History of Politics, on Economics and on the Science of
Government, according to a list I had already drawn up for the purpose. They either
purchased these books for themselves, or read them from our library. The funds of the
association and its general management were looked after by us without any
correspondence or written constitution. We had to work secretly because we had to count
upon the opposition of the jail officers to our programme.

We provided the prisoners with books, slates, pencils and readers to begin with.
There was yet another difficulty in our way. The jailor was sure to question them how
these books had come to them. Many a prisoner had suffered punishment for keeping
books and writing material with him. If a warder told that he had received the book from
me, he was sure to lose his job or be sent back to work on the 'Kolu'. He was forbidden to
talk with a political prisoner. What then of accepting a book from him? Therefore, when
a warder went out on a holiday, the book had to be sent in with him as a gift from a rela-
tive. So we spread the readers among prisoners in this jail.
More than this difficulty there was another which we had to overcome and that
was the reluctance of the prisoner himself. Whenever one asked him to begin reading and
writing, the stock question that he put was, "What was the use of it?" If we dwelt on their
intellectual benefit, or their national importance, it was out of his power to understand us.
Again, Mr. Barrie was particularly cross with those who liked to read and write. And the
prisoner had no desire to incur Mr. Barrie's displeasure. By no means. Still we tried to
educate those who came in close contact with us; We offered him to teach English as
soon as he had finished his Marathi; we showed him its advantage by pointing out that it
would lead to some post associated with the office; that he would be a 'Munshi' or a clerk.
That would mean an honour for him. Many prisoners learnt to read and write because
that would lead them to that post. There were also a few who learnt the language for its
own sake, because it was their mother-tongue, or it would enable them to read religious
works in that language. There were also some among them who learnt to spell their
rudiments after they had passed their youth, and only as a national call. All honour to
them.
How strenuous the work was you can imagine from the fact that we had to begin
everything in that education from the very beginning. We had to teach them the A.B.C. of
their vernacular alphabets; we had to take them through the formation of words through
these alphabets; we had to plod on with them that they might remember them, write them
and make them into simple sentences. And all this work had to be done secretly and
regularly. We had to wheedle them into pursuing their lessons from day to day.
Sometimes the prisoners would not accept the slates and pencils that we gave them free
for writing their lessons; others refused to talk to us for fear we might open to" them the
subject of learning. We gave them tips to induce them to read and write. We paid them
in the currency of the Andamans. Rupees, annas and pies were not so important a
currency with them as what they called "Sukka", that is, payment in quantities in tobacco.
If we gave a prisoner two pinchfuls of tobacco he would bestow upon his teacher the
favour of reading his lessons with him for fifteen to twenty minutes at the most. This
heart-breaking work was hard to pursue from day to day, and my collaborators simply
refused to go on with it after a few days' experience. This was a waste of time, energy
and talent, as they put it to me. They were themselves graduates and double graduates
and it was hard on them to be giving lessons in rudiments to ignorant, dull-headed,
disinclined pupils like the thieves, dacoits, murderers, swindlers, and hardened criminals
in this jail. While teaching them the three R's they had so many times to flatter them, and
break their heads over them. Whenever this mood came over myself or other teachers, I

would talk in the following words, "You think it a waste of your energy; what better work
can you do for your country, what more important work can you accomplish while you
are here? He who would assure me of such work, I shall relieve him at once of this
drudgery. But to waste one's time in idle brooding or in useless discussion is worse than
this drudgery. For this, at least, means to raise the fallen by teaching them to read and
write; it is to infuse into them the right sense of looking at things; it is to imbue them with
the spirit of service and mutual help. Is it not service of the country, the hardest it may
be, but sterling service all the same? Remember again, that we pass resolutions to
establish schools of primary education, free and compulsory all over the country. Some
men must come forward to teach in these schools. Some must dedicate their lives for
this work. Why then, not do that thankless task ourselves? Are we only meant for
drawing fat salaries and filling top-jobs and passing on drudgery and hard work to others?
Is this not unfair? Is it just for us who call ourselves servants of the people? Real and
faithful national work must begin with the uplift of the down-fallen and the down-
trodden. Great missionaries in the West dedicate their learning to the spread of
education among prisoners and in the jails of their own countries. In Russia thousands
of revolutionaries have spent their lives in going from village to village
and educating the masses, their unfortunate and ignorant brethren. Why then should
we grudge to do it here? By our teaching we are not only making them learn to spell
their rudiments; but we are opening the windows of their soul upon the world, and
making them understand their best interests in life. In contact with us, they come to know
of their country, of their nation, and of their people. They imbibe right notions about
them from us. When we tell them stories of great men from our history of the past, light
shines in their eyes. Are they the really fallen ones? Then what are we? We were not
born emancipated. If we have improved and are 'twice-born' now, they also can improve
and take their rank with us. Hence, so long as we cannot do better work than this, that
long we must do this, for that is real national service, however laborious, disappointing
and nerve-racking it may be. To educate the fallen into seeing right and feeling right, to
give them as much of literary, intellectual, moral and national education as it is in our
power to give them is a duty we must do as long as we are in this prison."
As we kept on working with this faith, gradually there arose from among these
outcasts of society men so generous, so selfless, so pure in life and conduct, so strong of
purpose, so tenacious of will, that their zeal in the national cause put to shame some of
the best workers among us. And before the former self-praise became a fatuity and a
shame.
We started a library
Having provided reading books and writing material for ordinary prisoners in the
jail, I set myself to the task of founding a decent library for the use of the political
prisoners themselves. We called upon all of them to put their own collection of books
together. Seeing the circular, Mr. Barrie, as usual, strongly opposed the move. He rea-
lised that we were bent upon carrying it out, and communicated to the Superintendent

that the political prisoners were unwilling to part with their valuable collection of books
and hand it over into the common stock. He brought forward his own pawns to support
the move. These good men informed the Superintendent that they were opposed to this
common collection, whereupon the Superintendent asked us how we could bring all the
books together and form a common library, when a large number of political prisoners
disapproved of that proposal. I proposed to the Superintendent to have a referendum on
that subject, and he would know the truth of the matter. On this Mr. Barrie went round
and threatened every one of them that if they voted for a common library, he would burn
such books from it as bore pencil marks on them or notes in their margin, by one who
was not the owner of those books.
Inspite of this and other threats by Mr. Barrie, when the Superintendent came the
next day to sound our opinion, all of us voted in favour except the two or three among us
who were the henchmen of Mr. Barrie. As regards Mr. Barrie's threat of burning the
books, I said, "in the proposed collection, I have my own precious and valuable books
worth three hundred rupees; and I must have a library in this prison for free and common
use by all the political prisoners, and I do not mind if you burn my books out of the
collection. Every prison has a library of its own provided by Government. But none of us
can use it. Now we start a library on our own, and we lend our books for that purpose.
We have sought your permission to help us. Why then should you find it hard to grant our
request?" The Superintendent was a man of progressive views. He agreed to our
proposal and started a library, only omitting from the collection the books of those who
had objected to it. Every Sunday a political prisoner could go to the library and get such
books issued to him as he wanted for his reading during the week. The library gave them
an opportunity of reading books on a variety of subjects, and such of our political
prisoners as had no chance of ordering books from home, could read them freely in the
library. Those of us who could order out books from home, timed our orders in a manner
that the parcels came to each one of us one after the other, and not all at the same time.
Again, we arranged matters between us that each parcel should contain a different set of
books. The avoidance of overlapping in time and books, enabled us to read many books
and on many subjects, without multiplying copies of the same books. We procured in this
manner books in Bengali, Hindi, Panjabi and Sanskrit without unnecessary burden upon a
single individual. We had a parcel of books addressed to one or the other of us. So we
had a full and growing stock of new books and of literary and religious magazines. And
these kept us abreast of news in India many times, to fight hard for magazines. We have
already referred to Mr. Barrie's way of assessing their worth. But a level-headed
Superintendent was in charge for some time, and he showed considerable good sense in
the choice of books. As regards magazines, however, he dared not go against the opinion
of Mr. Barrie. For Mr. Barrie, he knew, would not hesitate to report against him to the
Chief Commissioner that the Superintendent was giving to us magazines full of seditious
writing. Hence magazines like the Modern Review and the Indian Review found access
to our library only after taking up the matter with the Commissioner himself. I always
used to argue that the magazines which had not been proscribed by the Government of
India ought not to be banned in the Andamans. And there should be no objection to their
reading by a class of educated men like the political prisoners in this place. For a book or
a magazine which had passed the thousand-eyed scrutiny of censorship in India, must be

considered free from sedition and from any other objectionable reading matter in them.
That a man of the intellectual calibre of Mr. Barrie should sit in judgment upon us was to
declare that censorship purblind. This argument weighed with the Commissioner and we
got these magazines all right for our perusal in the library. However, with the change of
that Superintendent, Mr. Barrie found his chance once more to interfere with our work.
Sometime he would tear off pages from a magazine; at another time he would blacken the
objectionable portion in it with an ink-roller from his printing-press; so on and so forth.
And, yet, we got what we wanted and fought for more. Once or twice Mr. Barrie
intercepted parcels of books which had been sent to us after the lapse of a year, and
informed us that they were not received. We had information that they had been delivered
in the jail. We, therefore, wrote to the Superintendent who discovered that they had been
received a month before. Mr. Barrie had to look very small in that episode. He found it
very hard to make up with the Superintendent. To obtain books and magazines, we had
sometimes to strike our work. We had opened the library against his wish, and he gave us
considerable trouble over it.

Passing through all these difficulties, the library became a model institution in our
jail. It contained from one to two thousand books in different languages and on different
subjects. It contained choicest books on these subjects. Those who had kept aloof from it
at the start, now began to take full advantage of it by sending their own books to that
collection. Even the Superintendent became proud of that institution. He sanctioned new
cupboards for it, gave it an independent hall to house in, and got all old and tattered
books bound for it. He appointed three political prisoners to supervise that work and to
take proper care of the books. They knew the art of book-binding, did their job
thoroughly well, so much so that Government began sending its orders for book-binding
to the jail from that time onwards. Some of them were excellent photographers, and they
got orders for photo-enlargements from European officers in our jail, with the permission
of the authorities themselves. Thus, these were released from hard manual labour, and
got an opportunity for doing work that was entirely to their taste. Of course, these
relatively easy jobs fell to the lot of those who were the favourites of Mr. Barrie. They
did not go to those who had done their best work in that line. Mr. Barrie and they put
spokes in our wheel and he did his best to pay his debt back to those who had obliged
him.

The Origin of Vainayak Vritta

The library contained biographies of Raja Ram Mohan Roy, Ishwar Chandra
Vidyasagar, and other great men of Bengal in the original Bengali language. It included
works of Navin Sen Roy and Ravindranath Tagore; and books by Jogeshchandra and
others in original Bengali. It had complete Sanskrit editions of the Mahabharat, the
Ramayan and the Yoga Vashistha. Lives and works of Vivekananda and Ramkrishna
Paramahansa, and magazines bearing on the subject of religion and philosophy consti-
tuted a special feature of the library. We had these in duplicate and triplicate copies, so
that the political prisoners read them repeatedly and with avidity. It was through the study

of these books that I mastered the Bengali language then. While in London and when I
was engaged on the study of all available material for my book on the Indian. Mutiny of
1857, I came across a work on the subject written in Bengali by Babu Rajanikanta. The
book was styled "The History of the Sepoy War." I had it read to me by a Bengali friend
in London. I knew at that time to read and speak in Bengali. But I could not master the
script and was unable to write in Bengali. I mastered it later on, and I can write it now;
yet I must say that while I can make them out when I read Bengali books, they somehow
slip from my memory when I undertake to write Bengali. Life and sayings of Ramkrishna
Paramahansa, Reminiscences of Rabindranath Tagore, his dramas like Chitra, I read all
of them from the library of the Silver Jail. I then turned to the study of old Bengali as in
the Ramayana and in the Mahabharata written in Bengali metre known as the 'payara'
metre. This special metre was used by Michael Madhusudan Dutt in his own Bengali
poems. He slightly modified it to suit his own blank verse. His poems like 'Meghanad
Vadha', 'Kurukshetra' and others made me familiar with this form of unrhymed verse. It
taught to me to appreciate English blank verse. And, at last, I succeeded in adapting it to
Marathi metre after the model of English blank verse. I have employed it to the full in my
longer narrative verse known as 'Gomantak.' Since then it has come to be known as
'Vainayak Vritta.'
As for Marathi books, we had a good collection of the works of ancient Marathi
poets from Dnyaneshwar to Moropant inclusive. We had works on scientific subjects like
those of Dikshit. We had Marathi serial readers for the use of ordinary prisoners; we had
works on Indian History in Marathi from its early days to the close of the Maratha Period,
and a special, comprehensive selection of books on Maratha History. We had, besides, a
full and complete translation in Marathi of the Mahabharata, all the Baroda series of the
Dwaita and the Advaita Bhashyas or commentaries and the translation into Marathi of the
entire text of the 'Brahma Sutras'. In all, this section came to about two hundred volumes.
My friend and collaborator, Mr. Wamanrao Joshi of Nagpur, made a full use of this
collection.
All the Hindi books in the library had to be paid for through our own pockets. We
ordered them in a large number because I was of opinion that every Indian should study
Hindi as his national language. I purchased for that purpose selected Hindi books,
magazines and readers, and stocked them in our library. Later on, there was, by far, a
large addition of political prisoners from the Punjab and the U.P., and Hindi books began
to come in a growing number.
The principal and the largest section in our library, of course, consisted of English
books. Herbert Spencer's volumes on Synthetic Philosophy, including his 'First
Principles', and Sociology and Ethics; all the works of John Stuart Mill; of Darwin,
Huxley and Tyndals, and Haeckel; the writings of Carlyle and Emerson; of historians
like Macaulay and Gibbon; of poets like Shakespeare, Milton and Pope, constituted its
main feature. We had in it Abbot's Life of Napoleon, the Life of Prince Bismark, of
Garibaldi and Mazzini, with Mazzini's complete works. The library contained historical

works bearing on England, Italy, America and India. We had novels ranging from
Charles Dickens to Count Leo Tolstoy; and we had works of Kropatkin. The library had
English writings of Vivekananda and Ramtirtha; works of the German Historian Trietske
and of the German Philosopher Nietzche. Plato's Republic, Aristotle's Politics and Blunt-
chili's Theory of the State as well as Rousseau's Social Contract, found their place on its
shelves. Our political friends had thus succeeded in bringing into one place the most
representative collection of books on subjects of general interest and of deep educational
value, in almost all the vernaculars of India, and in the English language. It was a fine
library of about two thousand volumes available to all the inmates of the Silver Jail; and
all could profit by it, if they had the desire in them to read and improve. Books on
Theosophy abounded in this collection. We had to carry on a long struggle for securing
works on politics for this library. Excepting one liberal-minded Superintendent, all other
officers of this jail regarded this library with deep suspicion. It was an eye-sore to them.
When a high official from India happened to visit this jail, the first concern of Mr. Barrie
was to hide these works on politics from the official's gaze. Mr. Barrie was afraid that if
the officer saw them, he was sure to take him to task for it. But as time went on,
everything passed muster with him. In course of time the officers themselves offered their
collection of books for keeping in our library, and issued books from the library for their
own personal use. One of these officers presented to our library all his books on
theosophy from the works of Mrs. Annie Besant down to the latest work of Krishna Murti
on "My Gurudeo".

I read all these books carefully. Not a single book in that library I had left unread.
Some of them I read over again, and I made my companions study works on politics,
political history and economics with particular attention. I made them write summaries
and discourses on them so that the knowledge they had derived from these books should
remain a permanent treasure with them. Our Sunday meetings developed, in course of
time, into lectures by them on the different subjects they had studied. Books like
Bluntchill's The Theory of the State' I taught them in the spirit of a regular college class.

All the Sanskrit books in the library belonged to us. None was bought from
outside. Most of them were translations with the Sanskrit text embodied in them. All
Upanishads, the Rig Veda, the Ramayana and the Mahabharata, the Brahma Sutras, the
Sankhya texts, the Karikas of Ishwar Chandra, the Yoga Sutras, all these works we
studied here in translations and along with their originals.

Whenever a new book in Bengali, Marathi, Sanskrit or English was published, we
ordered a copy of it for our library, if we found it worth having. Thus though we were far
away from our homes, and from the world, we could know everything that was
happening there, and had our finger on the pulse of every moment in that world. Away
from it, far away from it, as we were, these movements and this new information
communicated a new hope to our hearts, and a new energy to our brain. I used several
other ways to inspire the hearts of my political friends with the highest sentiment, long
before the library had taken its present form. For instance I set them a question to state