Collected Works of Nolini Kanta Gupta - Vol. 7

IN Alipore Jail we spent a whole year, from 2nd May 1908 to 6th May 1909, as undertrial prisoners. This period might be divided into four distinct phases, according to the type of quarters we were allotted and the kind of life this gave us. These phases were however not of equal length.

The ward we were assigned in the first instance – this was known as the "44 Degrees" – was where we had to spend most of our time in jail, and this in two instalments, once at the beginning and again at the end. The name "44 Degrees" was given because the ward consisted of 44 rooms; these rooms were actually more like cells. You know the kennels and sheds where dogs and poultry are kept? These were something very similar. Whatever was to be done had to be done within the four walls of one single room – small and dark; there was no such thing as a screen or even any kind of privacy. Normally, these cells were set apart for the use of criminals like dacoits or murderers and they were kept singly, one in each cell. But we were kept in batches of three, for whatever reason one cannot say. Perhaps the idea was that if one of us tried to commit suicide, the other two would stop him! How utterly man could degrade man to a state worse than that of beasts even, one might say, was illustrated admirably by the life one had to lead in these "44 Degrees". Wordsworth must have had good cause to write:

And much it grieved my heart to think

What man has made of man!

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But of course one might take this as a fine opportunity for our training and discipline: out of much evil cometh much good. They say the spiritual life is not for those who do not conquer shame and disgust and fear, and these three things we had to give up almost without a thought while we lived in jail. And in my case at least, this sharing of a single room by a group of three proved to be on the whole happy, It was my great good fortune, I must call it a good fortune indeed, that my room-mates were entirely to my taste and their company wholly happy and beneficial. One of them was Upenda (Upen Banerjee); the other was Sachin Sen Gupta who was almost like a younger brother to me. Sachin had been the youngest member of our group – he was hardly sixteen yet, He was a nephew of Makhan Sen, the revolutionary leader of Dacca, A point about Sachin was that he was a good singer with a very fine voice. His songs were mostly of the patriotic kind, but he sang them so sweetly and with such feeling that it was really a joy to hear him, especially for us who lived under such conditions in jail. I used to try and sing with him in unison and-even managed to learn a few of his songs. This was my first acquisition in jail. After his release from jail, Sachin joined the Ramakrishna Mission at Belur Math and died at a rather early age.

Of about the same age was Sushil, the famous Sushil Sen whom the Presidency Magistrate Kingsford had sentenced to be whipped. Let me relate an amusing incident concerning Sushil here. When at the end of the trial, the Judge invited each of us individually to say if we had any statements to make, Sushil stood up in the dock and declared that he did not wish to say anything in front of the Judge because, as he put It, “whatever I say will be twisted into law." The whole court-room roared with laughter.

Upenda occupied the position of both leader and teacher. It was he who taught us the Gita at the Manicktolla Gardens. Here in Jail, by living In his company, I learned a lot of things

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from him, he gave me much courage and energy and enthusiasm and some very good advice. I am grateful to him for all that. He had a particularly soft corner for me, perhaps because his wife's name was also Nolini. He had given me a suggestion as to what sort of defence I should put up in court. "You should say," he explained, "that you do not know anything, that you met me accidentally at your Mess, and that it was I who on finding in the course of our talk that you were interested in Indian philosophy invited you to come to my readings in the Gita's philosophy. You had no other motives or evil intentions." Upenda had also explained to me certain ways of doing meditation and this helped me pass some of my time in jail.

It was not altogether bad during our first month of jail. And afterwards, when the case came up before the trying Magistrate, we began to have a really good time. For henceforth we had an opportunity to know and meet and talk with everybody else. We drove to court together making a lot of noise on the way; we stayed together in court for the most part of the day; and we drove back again in company. That was enough to keep us gay.

This first phase of our life was over by the end of a month and a half. The scene now opened to still brighter prospects. As the authorities discovered that we meant no harm and were perfectly good boys, they offered us a much nicer place for our stay. It was a spacious hall divided into three compartments, with a verandah and a courtyard in front. And our daily ablutions were now to be performed outside. This second phase of our life became something truly remarkable. Outside, in court, we met everybody. Back home, in the jail, we could meet anyone we chose at any hour of the day or night. Gradually, the company began to take a particular form and shape. We formed ourselves into groups according to each one's taste and predilection. Thus the three compartments of the hall came to be divided into three distinct groups. Sri Aurobindo occupied a corner

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in a particular room. Hitherto he had been kept quite separate from us and this was the first time he came in our midst. In his room gathered all those who were interested in the spiritual life, in sadhana and meditation. Barin joined here. To the central section of the apartments came those who looked for some kind of mental culture, they were the more "intellectual" types. Here Upen took the lead and I too spent most of my time here because of him, The third compartment belonged to the atheists and rationalists, the so-called "practical" men, Hem Das and his chief disciple young Krishnajiban ruled here. The groups exchanged banter freely among themselves, but there was never any dearth of good feeling and friendship. It was again during this period itself that we got permission to read books, and a few volumes reached our hands. My people sent me Bacon's Essays, Shakespeare's King John – I still remember these titles – and several other titles of the type used in my college as textbooks. Some works of Vivekananda came and also the Brahmavaivarta and the Vishnu Puranas in the Basumati edition. All of these books we went through over and over again, times without number, for new books could not be had for the asking.

But questionings too began to arise: and what next? Must we rot in jail for the rest of our lives, say for ten years or perhaps twenty? And supposing some of us were to be hanged, that too did not seem to be a particularly desirable end. Barin got an idea: we must break out of jail. Our lives, he argued, were going to be wasted in any case, so why not do something worthwhile before we lost all? He consulted some of the others and began to form his plans. Even maps and charts got ready and contacts were established with co-workers outside, such as the Chandernagore group with men like Srish Ghosh at the top. The idea was to carry out the coup sometime in the evening when we were usually left at large in the pen compound of our ward. With pistols in hand, we were to rush to the compound wall. Our friends

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would be posted outside with their arms. From there they would throw in ropes and ladders. We would keep on shooting as we climbed up the wall and then jump on to the other side. From there we would make good our escape in carriages – there were no cars then – along a route fixed in advance and straight to the river-side. There the boats would be waiting. We would sail down the river and on to the Sunderbans and the deep jungle, as in the story of Debi Chowdhurani of Bankim.

There were many who could not approve of this romantic plan of Barin. But I was one of the small fry and was prepared to obey orders, whatever they might be. For it had been part of our ideal in life:

Theirs not to reason why,

Theirs but to do and die:

to quote the poet's words with which my class-fellows greeted me on my first appearance in College after the release. We ourselves had often been singing the refrain,

We care not if we lost our life itself

In thy service, O Mother,

With "Bandemataram" on our lips.

Sri Aurobindo however refused to have anything to do with Barin's plans. "As far as I am concerned," he said, "I mean to stand the trial"

Another group, consisting of some four or five persons, had in the meantime been hatching another plan in secret. Kanai Dutt was there, and Sat yen Bose; perhaps Hem Das also was in the know and Upen and Ullas too. But they did not say a word and showed only by their deed what they had meant to do.

Close on this second phase of our life came the third. The authorities had known us long enough by now to get convinced

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that we could make no trouble, not even the kind of indiscipline which they expected of the ordinary prisoners. There was the big hall where all the forty of us were lodged. Each had his allotted space, with his own "altar," that is, a mound of earth that served as the bedstead and was covered with a blanket; at one end the mound was raised slightly to do duty for the pillow. I had at first nothing but disdain for this piece of earth, but later I came to appreciate its value, as I shall soon relate. Outside the hall, there was a huge courtyard where the water taps were and an aqueduct to carry off the surplus 'water where one could even take bath. The kitchen was near at hand and its smells filled the whole place. Up above there was the open sky. One could always come out into the open during the day; the sentries were extremely courteous. We had a regular supply of vegetables and even fish and meat, from outside, and we were sometimes allowed to cook. Inside, within the hall, all manner of games and frolic were on – it was a regular fair. There was acting and caricature, recitation and song, an endless mirth.

In the midst of all this, Sri Aurobindo occupied his little corner engrossed most of the time in his sadhana and meditations. But occasionally he too did not hesitate to join in our childish pranks. One day I asked to hear from him something in the Greek language. He gave us a recital of ten or twelve lines from Homer. That was the first time I listened to Greek verse.

Such was the picture of our outer life. But how about the inner feelings? There a fire had been smouldering. Barin had suggested that it would be easier and more feasible if we tried to make good our escape from jail itself, for we used to take our strolls in the yard adjoining the compound wall and the sentries also did not seem to be much too alert. Revolvers began to be collected – in what manner I shall explain later. But how did we hide them? Well, I had one in my keeping. On .one side of the mound we used as a bed I had made a hole. In order to prevent discovery and lest

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the sentries should know, I used to sit with my back against the mound and go on digging with my bare hands from behind. The earth was removed to either side and covered with the blanket. In this way the pistol could be kept hidden in a cavity within my "bed". The opening was plastered over with mud and then covered up with a tin plate on which they served us meals. But what happened to the pistol I left buried in this way I do not know. For as these plans and preparations were getting under way, there came a bolt from the blue, a deluge that swept away everything like a house of cards. It was Kanai and Satyen who had brought that about.

I did not know Satyen much, for we were told that he was ill and had been kept in the jail hospItal. Kanai too was not much of a mixer. But we could sometimes hear him say, "Jail is not for me. I shall give the slip to the British Government." We used to laugh at his words.

Let me mention here a somewhat similar incident about Sri Aurobindo. One day, as we sat in our cage in the court room, one of the more enterprising sentries – he was an Englishman – came up to him and said jokingly, "Abrindo (he could not say Aurobindo), you are caught at last, you are caught at last." Sharp and immediate came Sri Aurobindo's retort, "And yet I will escape, and yet I will escape!"

To come back to Kanai. Most of the time he used to lie in bed covered up from head to foot. If one got curious and asked him why, he would reply, "Oh, I am trying to find my way into the inner worlds." One day, a jail warder came and gave him the good news that he had passed his B.A. examination – the results were just out. Kanai had joined in our activities while appearing for his examination. The next we heard about him was that he was ill and had been removed to the jail hospital. And then...

All of a sudden, one evening, the alarm bell of the jail rang out. This bell with its furious: clang was rung only

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in a grave emergency. At the same time a prisoner ran wildly about, shouting in Hindustani, "Naren Gosain thanda, ho gaya, Naren Gosain thanda ho gaya, – "Naren Gosain has been done for, Naren Gosain has been done .for!" Before we had time to think or realise what had happened, swarms of armed policemen with rifles and fixed bayonets trooped into the courtyard where we had been taking our evening stroll. They pushed us back into our quarters like a drove of sheep or as if we had been animals for slaughter. Everyone was searched and we got a few rude jostlings. We were made to form a line and sit down on the spot and the order came, "Now to the 44 Degrees."

Kanai and others had wanted to get rid of Naren Gosain as soon as possible, not simply because he had been a traitor to the country but in order that his testimony be rejected in the Sessions court, for his evidence would have no value unless it could be tested in cross-examination. This saved is all, at least from the clutches of the law.

Now we were back again to where we had been at the beginning. It was exactly as before, except that now, instead If keeping us three in a room, they made us live separately and alone in our cells. For the authorities had now come to realise what kind of stuff we had beneath the mild surface. That was the end of our golden age in jail. All our special facilities and privileges were withdrawn. The court-room was now the only place where we could meet.

The case dragged on for quite sometime, for several months in fact. And then, the trial once over, came a period of utter loneliness. We could do nothing but await the results his state of dark night lasted nearly two months. I too had occasional fits of depression during this period. "Why, and what, and where, and which way?" These were questions at came up and clouded the mind. There was a sense of wariness. The one solace I found – it came towards the end – was in the company of Vivekananda. That was 1en his book, Colombo to Almora, came to my hands. What

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faith and confidence, what strength, what courage breathed through his words and his manner! All seemed to get cleared up, especially when I read aloud the Vedic and Upanishadic mantras like,

vedaham etam purusam mahantam

adityavarnam tamasah parastat

tam eva viditva atimrtyum eti

nanyah pantha vidyate ayanaya.

"I know this mighty Person resplendent as the sun, who stands beyond all darkness, by knowing whom alone one crosses beyond death; there is no other road for the great journey."

Or,

na tatra suryo bhati na candra-tarakam

nema vidyuto bhanti kuto'yam agnih

tam eva bhantam anubhati sarvam

tasya bhasa sarvam idam vibhati.

"There the sun shines not and the moon has no splendour and. the stars are blind; there these lightnings flash not, how then shall burn this earthly fire? All that shines is but the shadow of this shining; all this universe is effulgent wilh his light."

Or else,

yasyaite himavanto mahitva

"Whose glory these Himalayan snows declare."

How direct the touch of something eternally true, of a refuge unassailable, a fearless state and foundation unshaken

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was brought by the words of Vivekananda! They did in truth bring one near to the Self and impart strength, atmada, balada. Later, I read about Oscar Wilde and his experiences in jail, his De Profundis. Whenever I seemed to fall into some deep abyss, immediately there would surge up from the inner depths an aspiration for the heights. This for me was truly the darkest night before dawn.

One day, as I sat deeply brooding with a rather heavy weight on my head, suddenly there came the feeling of a something that was clear and bright and calm, "the horizons grew bright, the winds felt delightful," disah praseduh marutah vavuh sukhah. I sensed now as if there was nothing more to worry about. My release was destined, a release that was already manifest within me and in the wind and the sky.

On my last day in jail, we were summoned to court to hear the judgment. One by one the names were called out, of those who had been convicted. My name was not there; that is, I had been discharged. I did not feel any surprise or elation. What had happened was perfectly natural, something that had to be. I took leave of my friends and companions of all these days, bade them good-bye and paced back slowly out into the freedom of the open spaces, my mind at peace. A year had passed.

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