द इण्डियन स्ट्रगल / भारतीय स्वाधीनता संग्राम (नेताजी सुभाष चन्द्र बोस - ऐतिहासिक विश्लेषण)

CHAPTER VII
IN BURMESE PRISONS¹ (1925-27)
IN the early hours of the morning of October 25th, 1924, I
was roused from my sleep as I was wanted by some police-
officers. The Deputy-Commissioner of Police, Calcutta, on
meeting me, said: 'Mr. Bose, I have a very unpleasant duty
to perform. I have a warrant for your arrest under Regulation
III of 1818." He then produced another warrant authorising
him to search my house for arms, explosives, ammunition,
etc. Since no arms, etc., were forthcoming, he had to content
himself with taking a pile of papers and correspondence. To
avoid public attention, he drove me to prison in his own car
-but so utterly unexpected was my arrest that known faces,
whom I met on my way, never thought that my destination
was His Majesty's Prison at Alipore. At the Alipore New
Central Jail I was surprised to find that there were others in
the same boat with me. The prison authorities did not seem
to be happy to receive us. Special arrangements had to be made
for segregating us from the rest of the prison population and
they had hardly any surplus accommodation. As the day
advanced, our numbers began to swell and to our great
delight (there is nothing so welcome in prison as companion-
ship) when the time for evening lock-up came, we found
that we were eighteen in number.
As I was the Chief Executive Officer of the Calcutta
Municipal Corporation at the time, my sudden arrest dis-
located the work of the Municipality. The Government
therefore gave special orders that till the beginning of Decem-
ber I could attend to my office work in prison and that my
Secretary could see me from time to time with office files
and documents. In all these interviews a police-officer would
¹ The writer has been in custody eight times but he has tried to chronicle
the events of only one such experience, since it is more interesting than
the others.
149

150 THE INDIAN STRUGGLE
be present besides a jail-officer and usually some of the worst
police-officers would be detailed to conduct these interviews.
I had frequent trouble with them and had to put up with a
great deal of unpleasantness and on some occasions I had to
rebuke some of them for their impertinence. As a punish-
ment I was given orders of transfer to another prison (Ber-
hampore Jail) in the interior of the province where it would
be difficult for people to interview me. Neither at Alipore
nor at Berhampore did I have much trouble with the prison-
staff. Some of the Government orders were of course
humiliating, but for that we did not blame the prison-staff.
My trouble with the police-officers, however, continued at
Berhampore. Most of my time was spent in study and many
were the plans we discussed about the work that we would
do when we left prison once again. As the arrests continued
from day to day, the prison population began to increase to
our great delight. My stay at Berhampore did not last more
than two months. On January 25th, 1925, I suddenly
received orders of transfer to Calcutta. On my way I learnt
to my great surprise that my real destination was Mandalay
Prison in Upper Burma. At midnight I reached Calcutta and
was taken to the Lalbazar Police-Station to spend the night
there. The room in the police-station was a dirty hole and
thanks to mosquitoes and bugs, it was impossible to have a
wink of sleep. The sanitary arrangements were horribly
bad and there was no privacy at all. I then realised the truth
of what others had said before, namely, that if there is a hell
on earth, it is the Lalbazar Police-Station. As I lay down,
counting the number of beams in the ceiling to while away
the time, I heard familiar voices in an adjoining room. So
the good Government had sent me companions even there!
In the early hours of the morning when it was still dark, a
police-officer appeared on the scene. This was Mr. Lowman,
Assistant-Inspector General of Police, who, we learned later,
was to escort us to Mandalay. The doors of the cells were
opened and out came seven familiar faces, all bound for the
same destination. A surprise indeed!
Under cover of darkness, surrounded by armed guards, we
came out of the police-station. Two prison vans were standing

IN BURMESE PRISONS 151
in front with their doors invitingly open. In one, our worldly
belongings were placed; in the other the living luggage was
deposited. With terrific speed, the prison vans moved out
of the yard and merged in the darkness that still hung over
the landscape. After a while both the vans drew up and as
we alighted, we realised that we were on the river bank.
There was a ship standing near the bank, but we were all
put into a small motor-boat. For three hours we cruised
about on the river and when it was time for the ship to sail,
we were quietly taken up into the ship from the farther side.
By nine o'clock in the morning, we were sailing down the
river towards the sea. In front of our cabins, heavily-armed
guards were stationed and great was the curiosity of the
other passengers to know who we were and why these elaborate
arrangements had been made. When we reached the high
seas, the armed guards in front of our cabins were withdrawn
and only plain-clothes officers were left to look after us.
Our four days' voyage was rather interesting. Mr. Lowman
was jovial and communicative and we discussed all possible
subjects, including our estimate of Governors, Executive
Councillors, public leaders, etc. I even raised the question
of the torture of political prisoners by the police. Mr. Low-
man at first denied the charge, but at the end he admitted
that on some occasions such misdeeds had been committed.
On the whole, though I began with a strong prejudice against
him, I came to hold a favourable opinion of him and this
opinion was confirmed as a result of my subsequent meetings
and talks with him. The night before we reached Rangoon,
Mr. Lowman had almost a nightmare. He complained in
the morning that he could not sleep well as he dreamt that
some of the state prisoners had escaped through the port-hole
in the evening. From Rangoon to Mandalay it was a long
journey of twenty hours. We had a very large police escort
and at every stop on our way, they would line up on both
sides of the train. From the fuss they made, one would think
that we were either high state-officials or wild animals.
Till then Mandalay was but a name to us. I had a hazy
idea that it was the capital of the last independent kingdom
of Burma and the scene of the second Burmese war. But I

152 THE INDIAN STRUGGLE
remembered distinctly that it was the place where Lokamanya
Tilak had been imprisoned for nearly six years and later on
Lala Lajpat Rai for about a year. It gave us therefore some
consolation and pride to feel that we were following in their
footsteps. From the station we drove inside the fort to the
prison and we passed on our way the houses in which Lalaji
and Sardar Ajit Singh had lived during their internment.
Outlined against the morning sky we saw beautiful structures
which, we were told, were the palace and state-buildings of the
old kingdom. The memory of the good old days that were
no more, produced a pang in our hearts and we began
to wonder when Burma would once more be able to fly her
flag of independence. As our carriages drew up in front
of the grey walls of Mandalay Prison, our day-dreaming
came to an end. The massive gates of the prison-house
yawned and we were soon swallowed up. The interior of a
Burmese prison is somewhat different from that of an Indian
prison and the first few minutes were spent in examining
our new surroundings. The first thing we realised was that
the jail-buildings were built not of stone nor of brick, but of
wooden palisading. The buildings looked exactly like cages
in a zoo or in a circus. From the outside and especially at
night, the inmates of these buildings appeared almost like
animals prowling about behind the bars. Within these
structures we were at the mercy of the elements. There was
nothing to protect us from the biting cold of winter or the
intense heat of summer or the tropical rains in Mandalay.
We all began to wonder how we were going to live our life
there. But there was no help and we had to make the best
of a bad situation. In the yard adjoining ours, so we were
told, Lokamanya Tilak had spent about six years of his life.
Among the prison-staff we found many men who had been
there when Lokamanya Tilak was a prisoner. From them
and later on from the Inspector-General of Prisons himself,
we heard interesting anecdotes of him and how he spent his
days in prison. Not less interesting for us than the anecdotes
were the lemon-trees which he had planted with his own
hands. From one of the state prisoners, Mr. Jibon Lal
Chatterji, who had preceded us, we took our first lessons in

IN BURMESE PRISONS 153
the Burmese language. I was not there long before I devel-
oped a strong liking for the Burmese people. There is some-
thing in them which one cannot help liking. They are
exceedingly warm-hearted, frank and jovial in their tem-
perament. They are of course quick-tempered and are
sometimes liable to lose their self-control when under the
influence of temper. But that did not appear to me as a very
serious shortcoming. What struck me greatly was the innate
artistic sense which every Burman has. If they have any
faults, it is their extreme naïveté and absence of all feeling
against foreigners. In fact I was told later that for a Burmese
woman, a foreigner has greater attraction than a member of
her own community.
Our Superintendent, Captain (later on, Major) Smith,
was exceedingly nice in his dealings with us and there was
never any misunderstanding between us. Even when we had
to fight the Government or go on hunger-strike, our friendly
relations were not disturbed. With the Chief Jailor we had
frequent trouble and we would receive constant pin-pricks
from him. He would justify himself by saying that he had
to act under orders, but till the end I was not able to find
out who was really responsible for these pin-pricks. However,
after some time, when the subordinate staff realised that if
we were given trouble we could also make trouble, they settled
down to a friendly alliance with us. The head of the Prison
Department was Lieut.-Col. Tarapore, a Parsi gentleman,
a very tactful, intelligent and well-meaning official. Though
state-prisoners in Mandalay or in other prisons of Burma had
occasional misunderstandings with him, I must admit and
that with great pleasure, that on the whole he endeavoured
to treat us well. His difficulty was that in the first place, the
Bengal Government who were ultimately responsible for us,
were exceedingly vindictive. Secondly, the Government of
India, the highest authority in the land, were too far away
and too indifferent. Thirdly, the Burma Government,
though not vindictive towards us, did not want to do any-
thing on their own responsibility. Lieut.-Col. Tarapore was a
great enthusiast of prison-reform and at his instance the
Burma Government invited Mr. Patterson, one of His

154 THE INDIAN STRUGGLE
Majesty's Prison Commissioners in England, to visit Burma
and advise them on prison-reform there. But with all
his enthusiasm Lieut.-Col. Tarapore could not achieve much
because of his reactionary environment. I remember that a
very important piece of reform which he had once attempted
had to be given up because of opposition in other quarters.
To the ordinary Burman, accustomed to smoking tobacco
from a very early age, tobacco is more important than food.
As tobacco was banned in Burmese prisons, the prisoners
'would commit innumerable jail-offences in trying to smuggle
it from outside. The Inspector-General of Prisons rightly
thought that if tobacco were given to the prisoners in a legal
way, there would be a drop in the number of prison-offences
and the illegal traffic would also be stopped to a large extent.
He, therefore, introduced a rule that as a reward for good
behaviour prisoners would be given a certain quantity of
tobacco every day. Though 'the reform was not sufficiently
far-reaching, it was an improvement on the existing state of
things. The experiment was tried for a year but at the end
of that period, most of the Prison Superintendents reported
against the experiment and the Finance Department also
raised difficulty about funds. The reform had consequently
to be dropped. Towards the end of our stay in Burma,
another important reform was attempted by him. Prisoners
were taken out of prison and employed for road-making.
They were accommodated in camps, were allowed more
freedom than in prison and were also given a certain allowance
in addition to their food. I do not know what the ultimate
result of the experiment was, but about the time that I left
Burma, difficulty was being experienced in finding suitable
officers for running these camps. In our talks with him, the
Inspector-General used to complain that he did not have
officials possessing the necessary education and character
who could forget their prison-environment and treat the
prisoners as human beings.
During my stay in Burma I was able to make a study of
criminal psychology and of the problems of prison-reform.
In supplying us with necessary literature, the Inspector-
General was of great assistance. The prison population in the

IN BURMESE PRISONS 155
different jails in Burma also afforded a valuable subject-
matter for study. It is neither possible nor necessary to give
here some of the results of my study and observation, but I
shall content myself with making one observation. It is
generally thought that those who are convicted for murder,
are the worst specimens of humanity and are past redemption.
On the contrary, my experience is that among the prisoners,
murderers are generally a better type. This is so at least in
those cases in which murder has been committed in a fit of
temper or temporary insanity. Professional thieves and pick-
pockets, on the other hand, represent the worst type. In the
condemned cells (where prisoners are locked before they are
hanged) I would see from time to time fine specimens of
humanity, sometimes boys in their 'teens, who were going to
be hanged simply because they had lost their self-control for
a moment and killed someone in a fit of temper. The ease
with which the High Court in Burma would confirm death
sentences appeared amazing to me. The conduct of the
High Court was all the more monstrous in view of the fact
that in Burma people had for centuries been accustomed to
take the law into their own hands and Upper Burma and
Mandalay had come under British rule as late as 1885.
From time to time we would receive visits from many
interesting people including officials. From the Home
Member down to the petty magistrate no one would ignore
us, since Indian state prisoners were to them interesting
specimens of humanity. Among the visitors was Mr. Patter-
son, a Prison Commissioner from England, who greeted us
as 'eight of the most dangerous men in India.' A regular
visitor was Mr. Brown, the Deputy-Commissioner (i.e.,
'District Officer) of Mandalay. Whatever may have been his
attitude towards the people of Mandalay, with the state
prisoners his dealings were those of a straightforward
gentleman. He was a cultured man and we enjoyed our
discussions with him. He was, moreover, helpful to us in
supplying literature and in mediating, whenever we fell out
with the prison officials. Our relations with the prison
officials suddenly became strained, when Captain Smith
went on leave. He was succeeded by Major Findlay. While

156 THE INDIAN STRUGGLE
Captain Smith had a genial temperament, Major Findlay
had a rough exterior and a rather saturnine temperament.
We soon fell out with Major Findlay over trifling matters
and this led to hunger-strike. Through Mr. Brown's med-
iation, the misunderstanding was however cleared up. There-
after, when we came to know one another more intimately,
I discovered that he was an exceedingly nice and straight-
forward man. Another official who acted as Superintendent
for a time, was Major Sheppard, with whom there was
constant friction, but since he did not stay long, matters did
not reach a crisis.
Ours was not the first batch of state prisoners to be deported
to Burma. About a year before we arrived, another batch
had been sent across there. When the first batch came they
were not confined in the same prison, but were transferred in
twos to different prisons in Burma. They had a very hard
time and as they were separated, they could not put up a joint
fight for improving their conditions. During this period
two of the state prisoners, Mr. Jibon Lal Chatterji and Mr.
Bhupendra Kumar Dutt, sent a representation to the then
Secretary of State for India, Lord Olivier, severely criticising
the conduct of the Political Branch of the Bengal Police, called
in India, the Intelligence Branch. The main thesis was that
agent-provocateurs were employed by the police for entrap-
ping innocent but over-enthusiastic young men and that the
bogey of a revolutionary conspiracy was deliberately raised
by the Intelligence Branch because they could thereby draw
extra allowances, like 'danger allowance,' and could also have
at their disposal, large sums of money for employing informers.
Certain facts and figures were given by way of substantiating
this charge. This letter somehow found its way to the Indian
Press and after its publication, it was quoted by the Swarajist
leader, Pandit Motilal Nehru, in a speech in the Assembly,
attacking the policy of imprisoning people without trial.
The publication of the letter so annoyed the Government
that severe restrictions were imposed on the state prisoners
in Burma. After some time the temper of the Government
cooled down and the state prisoners were allowed then to
come together in one prison. An exception was however

IN BURMESE PRISONS 157
made in the case of Mr. Bhupendra Kumar Dutt, whom the
Government wanted to punish for the publication of the
letter.
In prison we were able to meet from time to time Burman
political prisoners from whom we learned a lot about the
intricacies of Burma politics. Among those whom we met
there were some priests (called in Burma 'hpongyis'). These
priests, or hpongyis, whom I met in the prisons of Burma,
are some of the finest specimens of humanity I have ever met.
Burma is a land where there is no caste and no class. It is
probably the most classless country outside Russia. Buddhism
there is a living religion and the priests who live that religion
are held in high esteem. For centuries, they have been
imparting free elementary education to men and women,
with the result that in the matter of literacy, Burma to-day is
far ahead of India. Since the British annexation, the hpongyis
alone have kept up the flame of dying nationalism, since they
were never reconciled to British domination or to British
culture. Under their leadership for many a year, guerilla
warfare was carried on. Owing to their consistent opposition
to the foreign Government, they are intensely hated by all
Britishers, official and non-official. Strangely enough, though
they are anti-British, they are nevertheless pro-Indian and
they are strongly opposed to separation from India. Apart
from the cultural affinity they have with India, they feel that
when they are separated from India, it will be more difficult
for them to fight Great Britain for their political freedom.
Among the mass of the Burmese people the influence of the
priests is very strong. The English-educated Burmans are
politically a divided community. The majority are politically
opposed to the priests and are anti-Indian and pro-British.¹
A minority among them is however allied politically with the
priests. The English-educated Burmans generally think that
separation from India will improve their lot, though the fact
remains that it is the Britishers who have the best of every-
thing in the country and not the Indians. The 'anglicised'
¹ The New Constitution, outlined by the Joint Parliamentary Committee
on the basis of separation from India, is likely to prove disappointing to
English-educated Burmans and may bring about a change in their general
attitude.

158 THE INDIAN STRUGGLE
Burmans generally have no idea or intention of fighting for
their freedom and they think that once the Indians are
eliminated from Burma, everything will be all right for them.
The hpongyis or priests on the contrary, are politically-
minded and they follow the policy and tactics of the Indian
National Congress. When I was in Burma, the uncrowned
king of the Burmans was Rev. U. Ottama, a priest.¹ The
impression that I had during my stay there was that the
priests had the largest following in the country. They had
boycotted the Burma Legislature since 1920 and they did
not have their representatives there. That led the Govern-
ment to think that the Burmans really wanted separation from
India, as the English-educated Burmans generally were
saying. The recent elections have shown, however, that the
people are against separation. The significance of the last
elections will be understood better when it is remembered
that they were fought on the basis of the old electoral roll and
that the request of the anti-separationist party for a revision
of the electoral roll prior to the elections, was turned down.
Among the separationists (the English-educated Burmans) as
also among the anti-separationists, it is very difficult to have
a united party, because personal considerations play an
important rôle in Burma. The priests who are anti-separa-
tionists are on the whole a compact party. Among the
English-educated Burmans, when I was in Burma, there
were several parties, the most important of them being the
Twenty-One Party²—so called because twenty-one persons
joined together and formed the party. The Nationalist Party
in Burma is called the G.C.B.A.—that is, the General Council
¹ Rev. U. Ottama is now an exile living in Calcutta and is not allowed
to return to Burma. His health is completely shattered as a result of
repeated incarceration. When I was in Burma an interesting incident
took place. Rev. U. Ottama was in prison and a rumour got afloat that
he had been secretly transported to a prison in India. In the Burma
Legislative Council, questions were put on this point. The Home Member,
himself a Burman, felt annoyed at the questions and replied that U.
Ottama was one of the ten thousand criminals in his jails and he could
not be expected to know where he was confined at the time. At this in-
sulting reference to U. Ottama, all the non-official members of the Legis-
lative Council walked out as a protest. They resolved to dissolve their
separate parties and start a united party—called the People's Party.
² The policy of the Twenty-One Party was to work the Constitution,
while that of the G.C.B.A. was to boycott it.

IN BURMESE PRISONS 159
of Burmese Association and there are as many G.C.B.A.'s
as there are parties. Many people wonder to-day, why
Britain is so keen on separating Burma from India—but if
one knew Burma, there would be no reason to wonder.
Many Britishers think that even if India be a lost Dominion,
it is still desirable to try and keep Burma. Burma is so
thinly populated, is so rich in minerals and in certain parts
has such a pleasing climate that it would be fit for colonisation
by Britishers. Besides, Burma is the gateway of the Far
East and has an important strategic position.
Interesting as Burmese politics was to me, the country
and the people were even more so. I spent a great deal of
my time in studying the ancient history of Burma and in
discovering the old cultural contacts between the two coun-
tries. There is no doubt that many Kshatriya tribes migrated
to Burma from India. They, as well as the people from
Ceylon and South India, brought to Burma, Buddhism and
the Pali Literature. The culture and philosophy of Burma
have been largely influenced by India. The alphabets have
been taken from Sanskrit and even the script is much like
some of the Indian scripts. The pagodas (temples) of Burma
which have a unique charm of their own, are not devoid of
Indian influence. In Pagan and in other old centres of
Burmese culture, one can still see structures which form the
transition between the typical Hindu temple and the typical
Burmese pagoda. I have already said that the artistic sense
of the ordinary Burman is of a very high order. One had
only to see the exquisite handiwork of the prisoners in
Mandalay and other prisons to believe this. In Mandalay, on
two or three jail holidays in the year, the Superintendent
would give the prisoners permission to sing and dance. On
these days they would organise a variety performance. They
would play dramas and sing songs specially composed for the
occasion, would dance their exquisite national dance and
would even improvise a jail orchestra to supply the necessary
music. All this was possible only among a people with a
highly-developed artistic sense.
In October 1925, our national religious festival—the Durga
Pujah—falling due, we applied to the Superintendent for

160 THE INDIAN STRUGGLE
permission and for funds to perform the ceremony. Since
similar facilities were given to Christian prisoners in Indian
prisons, the Superintendent gave us the necessary facilities,
in anticipation of Government sanction. The Government,
however, not only refrained from giving sanction but censured
the Superintendent, Major Findlay, for acting on his own
responsibility. Thereupon we informed the Government
that they should reconsider their decision, otherwise we
would be forced to go on hunger-strike. The reply being in
the negative, we commenced hunger-strike in February 1926.
All our correspondence with the outside world was at once
stopped. Nevertheless, three days after the hunger-strike
began, the Calcutta paper, Forward, published the news of our
hunger-strike and also the ultimatum we had sent to Govern-
ment. About the same time Forward published extracts
from the report of the Indian Jail Committee of 1919-21.
Before this Committee a high official of the Prison Depart-
ment, Lieut-Col. Mulvany, had given evidence to say that
he had been forced by his superior officer, the Inspector-
General of Prisons of Bengal, to withdraw the health reports
he had sent of some state-prisoners in his jail and to send in
false reports instead. These disclosures raised a storm of
indignation among the public. In the Indian Legislative
Assembly which was then sitting in Delhi, Mr. T. C. Goswami
a Swarajist member, moved the adjournment of the House
over the hunger-strike in Mandalay Jail and referred to the
evidence of Lieut.-Col. Mulvany to the effect that false
reports about the state prisoners are manufactured by the
Prison Department. The Home Member found himself in
an uncomfortable position and promised to redress the
grievances of the state prisoners on hunger-strike. No sooner
was the debate over than a searching inquiry was instituted
with a view to finding out how Forward got the necessary
material for publication. However, the Government issued
orders without delay that they would sanction the money
that had been spent by us and that in future they would
provide facilities and funds for our religious requirements.
So after fifteen days' starvation, having won our point, we
ended the strike.

IN BURMESE PRISONS 161
In the latter half of 1926 an interesting development took
place. The Legislatures were dissolved and fresh elections
were due in November. My fellow-prisoner, Mr. S. C.
Mitra, was offered a constituency for the Indian Legislative
Assembly by the Bengal Congress Party, and I was offered a
Calcutta constituency for the Bengal Legislative Council.
Both of us accepted the offer and decided to stand. While
Mr. Mitra was returned unopposed, I had a formidable
opponent in Mr. J. N. Basu, the leader of the Liberal Party
in Bengal. At the last election Mr. Basu had retained his
seat by defeating the Swarajist candidate and the Congress
Party thought that it was necessary to put me up against
him in order to dislodge him. He was exceedingly popular
in his constituency and was a fine type of gentleman and
he had nothing against him except his Liberal Politics. This
was the key-election of the year in Bengal and so the Party
had to put forward its best efforts in order to win. The
election was reminiscent of the early Sinn Fein elections in
which political prisoners were candidates and the slogan was
—'Put him in to get him out.' Modern electioneering
methods were used by the Party, including the use of rockets
for distributing leaflets and posters showing the candidate
behind prison bars. The voters felt that my success would
be a public vote of confidence in me and force the Government
either to release me or send me up for trial. So I got a
thumping majority. But the Government of India was less
responsive to public opinion than the Government in
Ireland and my incarceration continued.
Meanwhile, as a result of the unfavourable climatic con-
ditions and of the hunger-strike earlier in the year, my health
had begun to give way. Matters grew serious when during
the winter of 1926 I had an attack of broncho-pneumonia.
After the attack, I could not shake off the temperature and
simultaneously I began to lose weight. I was therefore
transferred to Rangoon for examination by a medical board.
The medical board composed of Lieut.-Col. Kelsall and my
brother, Dr. Sunil C. Bose, made a recommendation to the
effect that I should not be detained in prison. While I was
awaiting the orders of Government in Rangoon Jail, I had
L

162 THE INDIAN STRUGGLE
a quarrel with the Superintendent, Major Flowerdew (now
the Inspector-General of Prisons, Bengal), whereupon I was
transferred to Insein Jail. My transfer to Insein proved to be
a godsend. On arrival I found as Superintendent, Major
Findlay, who had been the Superintendent of Mandalay Jail
for some time. He was painfully surprised to see the condition
of my health. After keeping me under observation for three
weeks, he wrote a very strong note to Government about my
health. On receiving this note the Government were forced
to act. But they were still opposed to the idea of releasing
me. In the meantime they had made an offer in the Bengal
Legislative Council saying that if I wanted to go to Switzer-
land at my own expense, they would release me and put me
on board a ship at Rangoon sailing for Europe. This offer I
had rejected, partly because I could not accept the conditions
attached to the offer and partly because I did not like the
idea of going to Europe direct from Burma for an indefinite
period. After the rejection of this offer, the next order that
I received from Government, was for my transfer to Almora
Jail in the United Provinces. Once again arrangements for
my transfer were made with the utmost secrecy and early
one morning in May 1927, I was removed from Insein Jail
to a boat sailing from Rangoon. On the fourth day I reached
Diamond Harbour at the mouth of the river Hooghly. Before
our boat reached Calcutta, she was stopped and I was met
by Mr. Lowman (who was then the head of the Intelligence
Branch of the Police) who wanted me to alight. Thinking
that he wanted to smuggle me out of Calcutta, I refused.
But I was assured that His Excellency the Governor had
placed his launch at our disposal and that I had to appear
before a Medical Board who were waiting for me there and
I then agreed. The board composed of Sir Nilratan Sirkar,
Dr. B. C. Roy, Lieut.-Col. Sands and Major Hingston, the
Governor's physician, examined me and sent their report by
wire to the Governor at Darjeeling. I spent the day in the
Governor's launch and next morning Mr. Lowman, with a
telegram in his hand, came to inform me that the Governor
had ordered my release. Saying this, he handed over the
official order of release. It was May 16th, 1927, but the

IN BURMESE PRISONS 163
order was signed on May 11th. It looked like intriguing. I
asked Mr. Lowman why they had made a show of a medical
examination on May 15th, when the release order had actually
been signed on the 11th. He would not reply at first, but
on being pressed he said that on May 11th, other orders had
also been signed and kept in readiness, including my transfer
to Almora and it had been decided that the final decision
would come from Darjeeling after the Governor received the
report of the Medical Board. Later on, I was to discover
that when the Medical Board were considering what report
they would make, the police-officers tried their best to make
them submit a report in favour of my transfer to Almora, or
of my departure to Switzerland, with a view to preventing
my release, but fortunately for me, the board refused to do
so. Thus, it was clear that till the last moment the Police
Department tried to prevent my release. They would
undoubtedly have succeeded, if anyone else had been the
Governor. Fortunately for me, the new Governor, Sir
Stanley Jackson, had come with an open mind and he was a
strong man. With the unerring instinct of a trained politician
he had sensed the grievance of the people. He had realised
within a few days of his arrival that what the people demanded
was some protection from the tyrannical Police Department.
Under Lord Lytton's regime, the Police Department had
ruled and the Commissioner of Police of Calcutta had been
the virtual Governor of Bengal. All that was now changed.
Within a few weeks of his taking over the reins of office, Sir
Stanley Jackson gave everyone to understand that henceforth
he was to rule Bengal and not the Commissioner of Police.
When any conflict arose between the public and the police he
endeavoured to do justice even at the risk of offending the
latter. For nearly four years he was able to avoid trouble
through his firmness and tact. Only when the whole of
India was plunged again into the throes of another gigantic
upheaval, did Bengal become once again the political storm-
centre of India.

CHAPTER VIII
THE BAROMETER RISES (1927-28)
By the middle of 1927 the darkest hour had ended and the
horizon began to light up. Disgusted with the narrow
sectarianism, selfishness and fanaticism, which had seized
the country after the death of the Deshbandhu, the soul of
the people began to stir itself again. In the new awakening
the contribution of the youth was the largest. The leadership
of the Congress was, on the whole, found wanting. Mahatma
Gandhi was suffering from an acute mental depression and
was living in retirement from active politics. Pandit Motilal
Nehru had left for Europe, partly owing to professional
reasons and partly because of the serious illness of his daughter-
in-law. In the circumstances, the responsibility of leadership
was vested in Mr. Srinivasa Iyengar and he endeavoured to
rise to the occasion. He spent much of his time in 1927 in
touring the country for restoring inter-communal amity and
friendship. His crowning achievement during the year was
a successful session of the Unity Conference in Calcutta in
November, convened and presided over by him, which was
to pave the way for the coming upheaval in which all com-
munities and parties were to join once again. In Bengal,
where the worst demonstration of communal passion had
taken place during 1926, there were signs of the dawn of a
new era. In August, as a result of a vote of no confidence in
the Bengal Legislative Council, the Ministers were once again
thrown out. About this time a strike broke out in the biggest
railway workshop of the Bengal Nagpur Railway at Kharagpur,
seventy miles from Calcutta. The workers' organisation was
so strong that the Company had to climb down and meet the
demand of the workers. In November, the Unity Conference
in Calcutta helped to clear the atmosphere and restore the
friendly feelings hitherto existing between the Hindu and
Moslem communities. Later in the month, when the annual
164

THE BAROMETER RISES 165
meeting of the Bengal Congress Committee¹ was held, there
were signs of enthusiasm among the Congress workers of
Bengal. The most potent impetus to the new awakening
came, however, from the side of the Government.
It was an auspicious moment for the Indian Nationalists
when in November 1927 the Viceroy, Lord Irwin, made an
announcement, regarding the appointment of the Indian
Statutory Commission. The appointment was made under
Section 84a of the Government of India Act, 1919, which
provided for decennial reviews of the political situation in
India, somewhat reminiscent of the periodical surveys made
by the British Parliament into the affairs of the East India
Company at the time of the renewal of the Company's`
Charter. Since the Statutory Commission was due in 1929,
it was rather surprising to find a Tory Government accelerat-
ing the date of the Commission. The Indian National
Congress had been pressing since 1920 for a Round Table
Conference for revising the Constitution, with a view to the
early introduction of Dominion Home Rule, but this demand
had been consistently turned down by the British Govern-
ment. The Conservative Party had never taken kindly to
the Reforms of 1919, for which the Liberal, Mr. Montagu,
had been largely responsible, though Indian opinion con-
sidered them inadequate and unsatisfactory. They, therefore,
wanted to dispose of the Indian question themselves while
they were in power, so that the Labour Party, if they hap-
pened to succeed them, would not be able to make any further
concession to the Indian demand for Home Rule. Since the
next General Election in England was due in 1929, the
Conservative Cabinet found it necessary to appoint the
Statutory Commission in 1927.
The Commission was composed of Sir John Simon (Chair-
man), Viscount Burnham, Lord Strathcona, Hon. Edward
Cadogan, Mr. Stephen Walsh, Major Attlee and Col. Lane
Fox. (Mr. Walsh resigned and was succeeded by Mr. Vernon
Hartshorn.) There were seven members, of whom two were
Labourites, one (viz., the Chairman) was a Liberal, and the
¹ At this meeting of the Bengal Congress Committee the writer was
elected President and Mr. Kiron Sankar Roy, Secretary.

166 THE INDIAN STRUGGLE
rest were Conservatives. Thus the co-operation of all the
political parties in Britain was secured for the work of the
Commission. The Commission was charged with inquiring
into 'the working of the system of government, the growth
of education and the development of representative institutions
in British India and matters connected therewith and to what
extent it is desirable to establish the principle of responsible
government or to extend, modify or restrict the degree of
responsible government then existing therein, including the
question whether the establishment of second chambers of
the local legislatures is or is not desirable.' It was stated
on behalf of the Government that Indians had perforce to
be excluded from the Commission because it was an ex-
clusively Parliamentary Commission and the necessity of
having a Parliamentary Commission was explained by the
Viceroy in the following words: 'It would be generally
agreed that what is required is a Commission which would
be unbiased and competent to present an accurate picture
of facts to Parliament; but it must also be a body on whose
recommendations Parliament should be found willing to take
whatever action a study of these facts may indicate to be
appropriate.' Simultaneously with the announcement of the
Commission, the Viceroy and the Governor of Provinces
invited a number of public men in order to explain to them
the motive and intention of the Government. The Com-
mission was appointed by Royal Warrant of November 26th,
1927, and Lord Birkenhead, the Secretary of State for India,
while speaking in the House of Lords the same month on the
appointment of the Commission, challenged Indian politicians
to produce an agreed constitution for India.
The announcement regarding the Statutory Commission
evoked a chorus of condemnation from Congress leaders of
all parts of India as also from the public at large. The public
had become so much accustomed to the idea of self-deter-
mination for India, that they no longer regarded the British
Parliament as the arbiter of India's destiny. It was therefore
but natural that the Congress should, without hesitation or
delay, decide to boycott the Commission (popularly known
as Simon Commission). That was, of course, no surprise for

THE BAROMETER RISES 167
the Government. But what did surprise them was the
decision of the Indian Liberals to boycott the Commission.
It was not the violation of the principle of self-determination
which offended them but the exclusion of Indians from the
All-White Commission. In the face of this non-co-operation
on the part of the British Government, how could the Liberals
maintain their pet theory of Indo-British collaboration? The
attitude of the Liberals was explained by a resolution passed
at a public meeting held at Allahabad in December, which
was presided over by Sir Tej Bahadur Sapru and which
considered 'the exclusion of Indians a deliberate insult to the
people of India, as not only does it definitely assign to them
a position of inferiority, but what is worse, it denies them the
right to participate in the determination of the Constitution
of their own country.' The tenth session of the Liberal
Federation held at Bombay the same year and presided over
by the same gentleman, decided to reject the Simon' Com-
mission.
Following the Unity Conference in November, the All-India
Moslem League met in Calcutta in December. The League
passed a resolution recommending Hindu-Moslem unity on
the lines laid down by the Unity Conference. It also urged
the boycott of the Simon Commission and accepted the
principle of joint electorates with reservation of seats for
Moslems. This decision was a triumph for the Nationalist
Moslems and it was possible only because such prominent
Moslems as Mr. M. A. Jinnah and the Ali brothers partici-
pated in the conference and advocated the Nationalist point
of view. The same month the All-India Trade Union
Congress met at Cawnpore and it witnessed for the first time
a compact body of Communists who stood for an independent
Socialist Republic and for a definite break with the British
Trades Union Congress and the International Federation of
Trade Unions in Amsterdam. Towards the end of December,
the annual session of the Indian National Congress was held
at Madras and was presided over by Dr. M. A. Ansari, the
Nationalist Moslem leader of Delhi. The Madras Congress
is memorable for two reasons. A resolution was of course
passed boycotting the Simon Commission 'at every stage

168 THE INDIAN STRUGGLE
and every form.' But along with that another resolution was
passed directing the Executive to convene an All-India All
Parties Conference with a view to drawing up a constitution
for India acceptable to all parties. A somewhat contradictory
resolution was also passed declaring the goal of the Indian
people to be 'complete independence.'
The proceedings of the Madras Congress clearly indicated
that the appointment of the Simon Commission had been
made at an auspicious moment and it had a wonderful effect
in whipping up the enthusiasm of the people. From one end
to the other, the country exhibited a solidarity which it had
seldom shown before in recent times. It was this feeling of
solidarity, as also the resolve to give an effective reply to
Lord Birkenhead's challenge in the House of Lords, which
was responsible for the decision to convene an All-Parties
Conference. Apart from the effect produced by the appoint-
ment of an All-White Commission, there was another factor
which at this time put an indelible stamp on the Congress.
That was the awakening among the youths. The youthful
element in the Congress had been demanding a more extremist
ideology for some time past and under their influence,
resolutions had been passed from time to time by Provincial
Conferences recommending to the Indian National Congress
that the goal of the Indian people should be defined as
complete national independence. The resolution of the
Madras Congress regarding independence¹ was therefore but
the logical fulfilment of a process going on within the Congress
for a long time. Along with this resolution the Madras
Congress took a significant step in appointing to the Working
Committee, representatives of the Left Wing. And as
General Secretaries for the coming year were appointed
Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru (i.e., Nehru Junior), Mr. Shuaib
Qureshi and the writer. Thus the Madras Congress may be
regarded as standing for a definite orientation towards the Left.
¹ This resolution was passed unanimously at the Madras Congress but
after the Congress was over, Mahatma Gandhi declared that it had been
'hastily conceived and thoughtlessly passed.' Lala Lajpat Rai declared
that it was passed because 'many people believed that Dominion Status,
also meant complete national independence.' At the Lahore Congress in
December, 1929, a similar resolution was moved by the Mahatma and
unanimously adopted.