Tales of Prison Life

The Arrest

I had gone to sleep in a peaceful state on Friday night. I woke up abruptly at about five in the morning when my sister anxiously rushed into the room and called me by name. The very next moment, armed policemen entered the room. The party comprised of Superintendent Cregan, Clark Saheb of 24-Parganas, Sriman Benod Kumar Gupta, who was well-known to us, several other Inspectors, "red-turbans", spies and 'search-witnesses'. They all came charging in, pistols in hand, as if an all-conquering army charging forward to overrun a secure fort with guns and cannon. I learnt that a heroic white man had pointed a pistol at my sister's breast, although I did not see this with my own eyes. As I sat up on my bed, not yet fully-awake, Cregan inquired, "Who is Aurobindo Ghose, is that you?" I answered, "Yes. I am Aurobindo Ghose." He immediately ordered a policeman to put me under arrest. This was followed by a brief but sharp verbal exchange between Cregan and myself caused by his utterance of an extremely offensive expression. I asked to be shown the search warrant. I read through it and then signed it. I gathered from the reference to bombs in the warrant that the sudden arrival of this army of policemen was connected to the 'Muzaffarpur Bomb-throwing incident'. However I could not understand their haste in arresting me, without first gathering any incriminating evidence and obtaining a body warrant on that basis. I desisted from raising any objections on this account though. I was handcuffed, as per Cregan's instructions, and a rope was tied around my waist. A North-Indian constable stood behind me holding the rope-end. At that point the police brought Shrijut Abinash Bhattacharya and Shrijut Sailen Bose upstairs to my room, similarly handcuffed and with ropes tied around their waists. About half an hour later, they removed the rope and the handcuffs - I do not know who gave the orders for the removal. Initially Cregan behaved as if he had entered a lair of some wild ferocious beast and we were uncivilized, violent, hardened criminals who deserved neither basic courtesy nor decency in speech. Subsequent to our verbal duel mentioned earlier, the sahib appeared to soften a little. Benod babu apparently provided Cregan with some details related to me. Cregan then asked me: "It seems you are a B. A. Yet you sleep on the floor of an unfurnished room. Are you not ashamed that despite your educational qualifications, you dwell in such conditions?". I said, "I am a poor man, and I live like one." Cregan immediately responded in a loud voice, "So have you worked up all this mischief with the aim of becoming rich?". It seemed impossible to me that this thick-headed Briton could be made to understand the import of patriotism, selflessness or a vow of poverty. Hence I did not make any such attempt.

The House-Search

The house-search had continued all this while. It had started at five-thirty and eventually ended at about eleven-thirty. The all-encompassing house-search had included exercise books, letters, documents, scraps of paper, poems, plays, prose, essays - nothing had been excluded. Mr. Rakshit, a search-witness, seemed ill-at-ease; later, bemoaning his lot, he informed me that the police had dragged him along, without any prior intimation that he would have to be a party to such a distasteful activity. He narrated, in a most pitiable manner, the story of his kidnapping. The attitude of the other witness, Samarnath, was quite the opposite; he played out his part in the house-search as a true loyalist with great enthusiasm, as if to the manner born. There was no other mention-worthy event during the course of the search. But I recollect Mr. Clark examining the lump of earth from Dakshineshwar, preserved in a small cardboard box, with great suspicion; he suspected it might be some new and powerful explosive. In one sense, Mr. Clark's suspicions were not unfounded. Eventually it was concluded that the specimen was no different from normal earth and hence there was no need to send it for chemical analysis. I did not participate in the search except to open a few boxes. No documents or letters were shown or read out to me, except for one letter from Alakdhari, which Mr. Cregan read aloud as if for his own entertainment. Our friend, Benod Gupta, went marching around, shaking the room with each gentle foot-fall; he would bring out a document or letter from a shelf or some other place, and from time to time, exclaim "Very important, very important" and make an offering of it to Cregan. I was not made aware of what these "important" documents were. Nor did I have any curiosity in this regard, since I knew that it was impossible for any kind of formula for the manufacture of explosives or documents relating to conspiracy to be found in my house.

After turning my room inside-out the police moved on to the adjoining room. Cregan opened a box belonging to my youngest aunt, and after glancing at a couple of letters, promptly concluded that there was no need of carrying away the women's correspondence. Then the police mahatmas descended to the ground floor. Cregan had his tea there. I had a cup of cocoa and toast. Cregan took this opportunity to impress his political views upon me along with supporting arguments - I remained unmoved and bore this mental torture without a word. Physical torture may be a long-standing police tradition, but may I ask if such inhuman mental torture too is within the ambit of its unwritten law? I hope our highly respectable well-wisher Srijut Jogeshchandra Ghose will take up this question in the Legislative Assembly.

After completing their search of the rooms on the ground floor and the office of "Navashakti", the police came up to the first floor again to open an iron safe belonging to "Navashakti". After struggling with the safe for half-an-hour, they decided to carry it away to the police station. At this point a police officer discovered a bicycle with a railway label bearing the name of "Kushtia". The police immediately jumped to the conclusion that the bicycle must belong to the man who had earlier shot a sahib at "Kushtia" and gleefully took it away as a critical piece of evidence.

At about eleven-thirty we left our house. My maternal uncle and Srijut Bhupendranath Basu were waiting in a car just outside the gate. "On what charges have you been arrested?" my uncle asked. "I know nothing about it," I answered. "They forced their way into my room and arrested and handcuffed me without producing a 'body-warrant'." When uncle inquired about the necessity of handcuffs, Benod babu replied, "Sir, it was not my fault. Ask Aurobindo babu, it was me who spoke to the Sahib to have the handcuffs removed." Bhupen babu wanted to know about the nature of the charges. When Mr. Gupta mentioned that it was under the Indian Penal Code Section for murder, Bhupen babu fell into stunned silence. Later on I came to know that my solicitor, Shri Hirendranath Datta, had expressed a desire to be present on my behalf during the house-search. But the police had turned down his request.

Benod babu was entrusted with the task of taking the three of us to the police station. His behaviour with us at the station was remarkably decent. We had our bath and lunch there and then proceeded towards Lalbazar. We were made to wait there for a couple of hours and then moved to Royd Street; it was at this auspicious location that we spent the time till evening.

Meeting with Samsul Alam

Royd Street was the venue of my first meeting and creation of a bond of affection with Detective Maulvi Sams-ul-Alam. Maulvi Saheb's influence and zeal were still limited then. He was yet to gain pre-eminence in the bomb case as the chief researcher and Mr. Norton's prompter and unfailing human aide-memoire. Ramsadaya babu was still the chief panda (broker) in this matter. The Maulvi gave an exceedingly entertaining sermon on religion. Hinduism and Islam have the same basic principles. We have three syllables - A, U, M - in the Omkara of the Hindus. The first three letters of the Holy Koran are A, L, M. According to philological laws, U may be used in place of L; ergo, Hindus and Mussulmans have the same mantra or sacred syllables. Yet it is necessary to preserve the distinction between the faiths. Hence it is condemnable for a Hindu to share a meal with a Mussulman. Truthfulness is another essential part of religion. The Sahibs say Aurobindo Ghose is the leader of a group of murderers. This is a matter of national shame and sorrow for all Indians. But truthfulness can lead to redemption. It was the Maulvi's strong belief, that distinguished persons and men of high character such as Bepin Pal and Aurobindo Ghose, would readily confess to their deeds. Shrijut Purnachandra Lahiri, who happened to be present there, expressed his doubt in this regard. But the Maulvi did not give up on his beliefs. I was charmed and delighted with his knowledge, intelligence and religious ardour. Considering that it would be impertinent to speak much, I listened politely to his invaluable sermon and carefully etched it upon my heart. But the Maulvi's enthusiasm did not distract him from his duty as a detective. During the conversation, he casually mentioned: "You made a great mistake in handing over the garden to your younger brother for the manufacture of bombs. That was not very intelligent of you." Understanding the implication of his words, I smiled a little, and replied: "Sir, the garden is as much mine as my brother's. Where did you learn that I had given it up to him, or given it up to him for the purpose of manufacturing bombs?" A little abashed, the Maulvi answered: "No, no, I meant that just in case you have done such a thing." Then this Mahatama uncovered a secret page from the book of his life. He revealed, "All moral or economic progress in my life can be traced back to a single sufficing principle of my father. He would always say, 'Never forgo a meal that can be had'. This great principle forms the sacred formula of my life; all that I have gained, I owe to this sage advice." At the time of saying this, the Maulvi stared at me so intently that it seemed as though I were his meal. In the evening, the redoubtable Ramasadaya Mukhopadhyaya appeared on the scene. He spoke words of unusual kindness and sympathy and told the people-in-charge to take good care of my food and accommodation. Immediately afterwards, some people took Sailendra and me, through rain and storm, to the lock-up at Lalbazar. This was the only meeting that I had with Ramasadaya. I could see the man was both intelligent and energetic, but his words and demeanour, his tone, his gait, all seemed fake and unnatural, as if he were acting on a stage. There are such men whose words, bodies, actions are an embodiment of untruth. They are experts in imposing themselves on immature, impressionable minds, but those who can read human character, find them out at once.

Lalbazar - Police Headquarters

At Lalbazar, the two of us were confined to a spacious room on the first floor. We were provided only light refreshments for sustenance. After a while two Englishmen entered the room. I was told later on that one of them had been the Police Commissioner, Mr. Halliday, himself. Halliday had become upset with the sergeant on finding both of us in the same room. He had pointed towards me and said, "Take care that nobody stays with this man or speaks to him." Sailen was taken away at once and locked up in another room. When all others had left, Halliday had asked me: "Are you not ashamed of your involvement in this cowardly, dastardly act?". I had asked him in turn: "What right have you to assume that I was involved?". To this Halliday had replied: "This is not my assumption; I know everything." I had replied: "What you know or do not know is your concern. I completely deny having any connection whatsoever with this murderous act." Halliday had kept quiet after that.

That night I had other visitors. They were all members of the police force. This visit was part of a mystery that I have not been able to solve till date. A month and a half before my arrest, an unknown person had met me and the following conversation had ensued. He said: "Sir, we have not met earlier, but owing to the great respect I have for you, I come to warn you of impending danger. I wish to know if you are acquainted with anyone at Konnagar. Have you ever visited the place or do you own a house there?" "No, I do not own any house there," I said. "But I have been there once and am known to some people there." "I will say nothing more," said the stranger, "but you should avoid meeting anyone from Konnagar after today. Some wicked people are conspiring against you and your brother, Barindra. Soon they will try to get you both into trouble. Please do not ask me anything more than this." I told him: "Sir, I am unable to understand how this information alone, without the full details, can be of help to me, but since you come with friendly intentions, I thank you. I do not wish to know anything more. I have complete faith in God. His protection is with me which renders any action or precaution from my side unnecessary." I heard no more of this matter. But tonight it was proven that this unknown well-wisher had not been imagining things. An inspector and a few police officers came to elicit information regarding my connection with Konnagar. "Are you originally from Konnagar?" they asked. "Have you ever visited the place? When was this? What was the purpose of the visit? Does Barindra own any property there?" - they asked many such questions. I tried to provide answers to all of them with the hope of getting to the bottom of this matter. But the attempt was not successful. However the nature of questions as well as the manner of the police inquiry indicated an attempt to verify information that had come into their possession. It was my guess that this matter was similar to the 'Tai-Maharaj' case, where there had been an attempt to portray Tilak as a hypocrite, liar, cheat and tyrant, and the Bombay Government had misutilized public money by participating in the attempt. There appeared to be a deliberate plot to falsely implicate me in a similar fashion.

The entire day on Sunday was spent in the lock-up. There was a staircase in front of my room. In the morning I saw a few young lads coming down the stairs. Their faces were unfamiliar, but I guessed that they must have been arrested in the same case. Later I came to know that these were the lads from the Manicktola Gardens. A month later, I made their acquaintance in jail. A little later I too was taken downstairs for a wash - since there was no arrangement for a bath, I went without it. Pulses and boiled rice were on offer for lunch that day. I forced myself to swallow a few morsels and then abandoned the effort. In the evening we had puffed rice. This was our diet for three days. But I must also add that on Monday, the sergeant, on his own, allowed me to have tea and toast.

Later I learnt that my lawyer had sought permission from the Commissioner to have my food sent from home. But Mr. Halliday had not agreed to it. I also heard that the accused were not allowed to consult their lawyers or attorneys. It is not known to me if this restriction was legally valid. In my case, a lawyer's advice was not necessary though it may have been useful; but for many of the accused, lack of access to legal advice had an adverse impact on their defence. On Monday we were presented before the Commissioner. Abinash and Sailen were with me. We were taken in different groups. All three of us had prior experience of being arrested and had some familiarity with the system and its legal complexities. Therefore we refused to make any statements before the Commissioner.

The next day we were taken to the magistrate, Mr. Thornhill's court. It was there that I met Shrijut Kumar Krishna Datta, Mr. Manuel, and one of my relatives for the first time after my arrest. Mr. Manuel asked me, "The police claims that a great deal of written material - documents and letters - has been recovered from your house that provides ground for suspicion. Is that true?" I told him, "I can say without doubt that nothing of this kind could have been found; for it is not possible." Of course, at that point, I did not know of the "sweets letter" or of the "scribblings". I told my relative: "Please tell everyone back home that there is no cause for fear or worry; my complete innocence will be proven." A firm belief had taken birth in me right then that it would indeed be so. During solitary imprisonment the mind did become restless at first. But after three days of prayer and meditation, an immobile peace and unshakable faith was again established in the being.

From Mr. Thornhill's court we were taken in a carriage to Alipore. This group included Nirapada, Dindayal, Hemchandra Das amongst others. I had prior acquaintance with Hemchandra Das having put up at his place in Midnapore once. It would have been difficult to imagine then that our next meeting would be under such circumstances - as prisoners on way to the jail. We made a brief stop-over at the Alipore magistrate's court with the purpose of obtaining a signed order. We again got into the carriage. A gentleman came near me and said, "I have information that they are planning solitary confinement for you and orders are being passed to that effect. They will probably not allow any one to see or meet you. If you wish to share anything with your family, I can convey your message to them." I thanked him, but since I had already conveyed my message through a relative, I did not have anything more to say to him. I mention this event merely as an example of my countrymen's sympathy and unsought kindness towards me. There-after we were taken to the jail and put under the supervision of the Jail staff. Before entering the jail precincts we were given a bath and made to put on the prison uniform, whilst our clothes - shirts, dhotis and kurtas - were taken away for laundry. The bath, after a gap of four days, felt like heavenly bliss. After the bath, they took us to our respective cells. I entered my bare cell, and the barred-door closed behind me. My prison life at Alipore began thus on May 5^th. Next year, on May 6^th, I was acquitted.