Day .42- JAWAHARLAL NEHRU - The Discovery of India (Continued)

Another Congress Offer and its Rejection by the British Government. Mr. Winston Churchill

The change-over to autocratic and one-man rule in eight of the provinces was not a mere substitution of the people at the top, such as a change in ministries might indicate. It was a radical and organic change affecting the whole spirit, policy, and methods of the entire state organization. The legislatures and the various popular checks on the executive and the permanent services vanished, and the approach of the civil service, from the Governor downwards, and of the police service, towards the public became different. It was not merely a reversion and setback to the days before the Congress governments had come into power. It was much worse. In so-called law it was a going back to the unchecked autocracy of the nineteenth century. In practice it was harsher, as the old confidence and paternalism were absent, and all the fear and passion of a long-established vested interest which was breaking up, per-vaded the British element in the administration. The two and a quarter years of Congress governments had been hard to bear, the carrying out of the policy and orders of those who could always be sent to prison if they gave trouble had not been pleasant. Now there was a desire not only to resume the old thread but also to put these trouble-makers in their proper places. Everyone, the peasant in the field, the worker in the factory, the artisans, and the shopkeepers, the industrialists, the professional classes, the young men and women in colleges, the subordinate services, and even those Indians in the higher ranks of the services who had shown any enthusiasm for the popular governments, must be made to realize that British Raj still functioned and had to be reckoned with. It was that Raj that would determine their individual future and their chances of preferment, and not some temporary intruders from outside. Those who had functioned as the secretaries of the ministers were now the bosses, acting under the Governor, and spoke again in their old superior way; the district magistrates resumed their old functions of gauleiters for their respective areas; the police felt freer to revert to old habits, knowing well that they would be supported and protected from above even when they misbehaved. The fog of war could be made to cover everything.

Many even of the critics of Congress governments viewed this prospect with dismay. They remembered now many of the virtues of those governments and expressed their strong displeasure at their resignation. According to them, they should have held on whatever the consequences. Curiously enough even members of the Moslem League were apprehensive. If this was the reaction of non-Congressmen and critics of the Congress governments, the reaction of the members and sympathisers of the Congress, and the members of the legislatures can well be imagined. The ministers had resigned from their offices but not from membership of the legislature, nor had the speakers and the members of these legislatures resigned. Nevertheless they were pushed aside and ignored, and no fresh elections were held. Even from a purely constitutional point of view this was not easy to tolerate and would have produced a crisis in any country. A powerful, semi-revolutionary organization like the Congress, representing the nationalist sentiment of the country, and with a long record of struggle for freedom behind it, could not passively accept this autocratic one-man rule It could not just be a spectator of what was happening, more especially as this was directed against it. There were strong and repeated demands for positive action to counter this suppression of the legislatures and of public activity generally and the whole policy of the Br itish Government in regard to India. After the refusal of the British Government to state their war v aims or to make any advance in India, the Congress Working -Committee had declared: 'The answer to this demand (of the Congress) has been entirely unsatisfactory and an attempt has been made on behalf of the British Government to create misunderstanding and to befog the main and moral i s s u e . . . . T h e Committee can only interpret this attempt to avoid a statement of war aims and Indian freedom, by taking shelter under irrelevant issues, as a desire to maintain imperialist domination of India in alliance with the reactionary elements in the country. The Congress has looked upon the war crisis and the problems it raises as essentially a moral issue, and has not sought to profit by it in any spirit of bargaining. The moral and dominant issue of war aims and India's freedom has to be settled satisfactorily before any other subsidiary question can be considered. In no event can the Congress accept the responsibility of government, even in the transitional period, without real power being given to popular representatives.'

The Committee went on to say that because of the declarations made on behalf of the British Government, the Congress had been compelled to dissociate itself from British policy and, as a first step in non-co-operation, the Congress Governments in the provinces had resigned. The general policy of non-co-operation continued, and would have to continue unless the British Government revised its policy. 'The Working Committee would, however, remind Congressmen that it is inherent in every form of Satyagraha that no effort is spared to achieve an honourable settlement with the opponent.... The Working Committee will, therefore, continue to explore the means of arriving at an honourable settlement, even though the British Government has banged the door in the face of the Congress.'

In view of the excitement prevailing in the country and the possibility of young men taking to violent courses, the Committee reminded the country of the basic policy of non-violence and warned it against any breach of it. Even if there was to be any civil resistance it must be wholly peaceful. Further that 'Satyagraha means goodwill towards all, especially towards opponents.' This reference to non-violence had no connection with the war or with the defence of the country against aggression; it was meant to apply to any action that might be taken in the cause of Indian freedom against British rule. Those were the months when the war in Europe was in a quiescent state after the crushing of Poland. It was the so-called 'phoney' period, and in India especially war seemed very far off to the average person, and probably even more so to the British authorities in India, except in so far as material had to be supplied. The Communist Party in India then, and right upto the day when Germany attacked Russia in June, 1941, was wholly against any co-operation with the British war effort. Their organization had been banned. Their influence was inconsiderable, except among some groups of young men. But because they gave aggressive expression to a prevailing sentiment, they became a kind of ginger group. It would have been easy during this period to have general elections both in the provinces and for the Central Assembly. The war certainly did not come in the way. Such elections would have cleared the atmosphere and brought the real situation in the country to the surface. But it was that reality itself which was feared by the British authorities, for it would have put an end to the many unreal arguments that they were continually advancing about the influence of various groups. But all elections were avoided. The provinces continued under one-man rule, and the Central Assembly, elected under a very restricted franchise for a three-year period, has now been in existence for ten years. Even when the war started in 1939 it was ancient and had exceeded its allotted span by two years. Year after year its life is extended, its members grow older and more venerable, and sometimes die, and even the memory of elections fades away. Elections are not liked by the British Government. They spoil the routine of life and blur the picture of an India of warring creeds and parties. Without elections it is much easier to give importance to any individual or group that is deserving of favour.

The situation in the country as a whole, and especially in the many provinces where one-man rule now flourished, became progressively more tense. Individual Congressmen were sent to prison for their normal activities; the peasantry cried loudly for relief from the renewed oppression of petty officials and police, who sought favour from their superiors by making all manner of exactions in the name of the war. The demand for some action to meet this situation became imperative, and the Congress, at its annual session held at Ramgarh, in Bihar, in March, 1940, under the presidentship of Maulana Abul Kalam Azad, decided that civil disobedience was the only course left. Even so it avoid-ed taking any positive step then and asked people to prepare for it. There was a sense of deepening internal crisis and it seemed that a conflict was inevitable. The Defence of India Act, passed as a war measure, was being used extensively to suppress normal activities and arrest and imprison people, many without trial.

The sudden change in the war situation, resulting in the inva-sion of Denmark and Norway, and a little later in the astonish-ing collapse of France, produced a profound impression. People's reactions naturally varied, but there was a powerful current of sympathy for France and for England immediately after Dunkirk and during the air blitz over England. Congress, which had been on the verge of civil disobedience, could not think in terms of any such movement while the very existence of free England hung in the balance. There were some people, of course, who thought that England's difficulty and peril were India's opportunity, but the leaders of the Congress were definitely opposed to any such advantage being taken of a situation full of disastrous foreboding for England, and declared so publicly. All talk of civil disobedience was given up for the time being.

Another attempt was made on behalf of the Congress to arrive at a settlement with the British Government. If the previous attempt had been far-reaching and asked for a declaration of war-aims in addition to changes in India, the present one was brief and concise and referred to India only. It asked for a re-cognition of Indian freedom and the establishment of a national government at the centre, which meant the co-operation of various parties. No fresh legislation by the British Parliament was envisaged at that stage. Within the legal framework then existing, Congress proposed that a national government be formed by the Viceroy. The changes proposed, important as they were, could be brought about by agreement and convention. Statutory and constitutional changes would of course have to follow, but they could await further discussion and a more favourable opportunity, provided that India's claim to complete freedom was recognized. Under these conditions, full co-operation in the war effort was offered.

These proposals, initiated by C. Rajagopalachari, toned down the oft-repeated Congress demand; they were much less than what we had long been claiming. They could be put into effect immediately without legal difficulty. They tried to meet the claims of other important groups and parties, for the national government would inevitably be a composite government. They even took into consideration the peculiar position of the British Government in India. The Viceroy was to continue, though it was presumed that he would not veto the decisions of the national government. But his presence as the head of the administration necessarily meant intimate contacts with that government. The war apparatus remained under the commander-in-chief; the whole complicated structure ,l civil administration built up by the British remained. Indeed the principal effect of the change would be to introduce a new spirit in the administration, a new outlook, a vigour, and increasing popular co-operation in the war effort as well as in tackling the serious problems that were facing the country. These changes, together with the definite assurance of India's independence after the war, would produce a new psychological background in India, leading to th?* fullest co-operation in the war.

It was no easy matter for the Congress to put forward this proposal after all its past declarations and experiences. It was felt that a national government built up and circumscribed in this way would be ineffective and rather helpless. There was considerable opposition in Congress circles, and it was only after much difficult and anxious thinking that I brought myself round to agree to it. I agreed chiefly because of larger international considerations and my desire that, if it was at all honourably possible, we should identify ourselves completely with the struggle against fascism and nazism.

But there was a much greater difficulty before us and that was Gandhiji's opposition. This opposition was almost entirely due to his pacifism. He had not opposed our previous offers to help in the war effort, though no doubt he must have felt uncomfortable about them. Right at the beginning of the war he had told the Viceroy that Congress could give full moral help only, but that had not been the Congress position as subsequently and repeatedly defined. Now he expressed himself definitely against Congress agreeing to undertake responsibility for a violent war effort. He felt so strongly that he broke on this issue from his colleagues as well as the Congress organization. This was a pain-ful wrench to all those associated with him, for the Congress of to-day was his creation. Nevertheless the Congress organization could not accept his application of the principle of non-violence to the war situation, and in its eagerness to bring about a settlement with the British Government, it went to the extreme length of breaking with its cherished and well-loved leader.

The situation in the country was deteriorating in many ways. Politically this was obvious. Even economically, while some among the peasantry and the workers were somewhat better off owing to war conditions, large numbers had been hit hard. The persons who were really prospering were the war profiteers, contractors, and a horde of officials, chiefly British, employed at fancy salaries for war work. The Government's idea apparently was that the war effort would be best promoted by encouraging the motive for excessive profit. Corruption and nepotism were rampant and there were no popular checks on them. Public criticism was considered a discouragement of war effort and hence to be put down by the all-embracing provisions of the Defence of India Act. It was a discouraging spectacle. All these factors induced us to try our utmost once again to arrive at a settlement with the British Government. What were the chances? Not very promising. The whole Organization of the permanent services was enjoying a freedom from control and criticism such as they had not had for more than two generations. They could clap in prison any person they disapproved of, with or without trial. The Governors enjoyed unrestrained power and authority over vast provinces. Why should they consent to a change unless they were forced to do so by circumstances ? Over the top of the imperial structure sat the Viceroy, Lord Linlithgow, surrounded by all the pomp and ceremony befitting his high position. Heavy of body and slow of mind, solid as a rock and with almost a rock's lack of awareness, possessing the qualities and failings of an old-fashioned British aristocrat, he sought with integrity and honesty of purpose to find a way out of the tangle. But his limitations were too many; his mind worked in the old groove and shrank back from any innovations; his vision was limited by the traditions of the ruling class out of which he came; he saw and heard through the eyes and ears of the civil service and others who surrounded him; he distrusted people who talked of fundamental political and social changes; he disliked those who did not show a becoming appreciation of the high mission of the British Empire and its chief representative in India.

In England there had been a change during the dark days of the German blitzkreig over western Europe. Mr. Neville Chamberlain had gone and that was a relief from many points of view. The Marquess of Zetland, that ornament of his noble order, had also departed from the India Office without any tears being shed. In his place had come Mr. Amery, about whom little was known, but this little was significant. He had vigorously defended in the House of Commons Japanese aggression over China, giving as an argument that if they condemned what Japan had done in China, they would have to condemn equally what Britain had done in India and Egypt. A sound argument used perversely for a wrong purpose.

But the person who really counted was Mr. Winston Churchill, the new Prime Minister. Mr. Churchill's views on Indian free-dom were clear and definite and had been frequently repeated. He stood out as an uncompromising opponent of that freedom. In January, 1930, he had said: 'Sooner or later you will have to crush Gandhi and the Indian Congress and all they stand for.' In December of that year he said: 'The British nation has no intention whatever of relinquishing control of Indian life and progress.... We have no intention of casting away that most truly bright and precious jewel in the crown of the King, which, more than all our dominions and dependencies, constitutes the glory and strength of the British empire.'

Later he explained what those magic words 'Dominion status,' so frequently thrown at us, really meant in relation to India. In January, 1931, he said: 'We have always contemplated it (dominion status) as the ultimate goal, but no one has sup-posed, except in a purely ceremonious sense in the way in which representatives of India attend conferences during the war, that the principle and policy for India would be carried into effect in any time which it is reasonable or useful for us to foresee.' And, again, in December, 1931: 'Most of the leading public men—of whom I was one in those days—made speeches—I certainly did—about dominion status, but I did not contemplate India having the same constitutional rights and system as Canada in any period which we can foresee. .. .England, apart from her empire in India, ceases for ever to exist as a great power.'

That was the crux of the question. India was the empire; it was her possession and exploitation that gave glory and strength to England and made her a great power. Mr. Churchill could not conceive of England except as the head and possessor of a vast empire, and so he could not conceive of India being free. And dominion status, which had so long been held out to us as some-thing within our grasp, was explained to be a mere matter of words and ceremony, very far removed from freedom and power. Dominion status, even in its fullest sense, had been rejected by us and we claimed independence. The gulf between Mr. Churchill and us was vast indeed.

We remembered his words and knew him to be a stout and uncompromising person. We could hope for little from England under his leadership. For all his courage and great qualities of leadership, he represented the nineteenth century, conservative, imperialist England, and seemed to be incapable of understand-ing the new world with its complex problems and forces, and much less the future which was taking shape. And yet he was a big man who could take a big step. His offer of a union with France, though made at a time of dire peril, showed vision and adaptation to circumstances and had impressed India greatly. Perhaps the new position he occupied, with its vast responsibilities, had enlarged his vision and made him outgrow his earlier prejudices and conceptions. Perhaps the very needs of the war situation, which were paramount for him, would compel him to realize that India's freedom was not only inevitable but desirable from the point of view of the war. I remembered that when I was going to China in August, 1939, he had sent me, through a mutual friend, his good wishes for my visit to that war-racked country.

So we made that offer not without hope, though not hoping too much. The response of the British Government came soon after. It was a total rejection, and, what was more, it was couched in terms which convinced us that the British had no intention whatever of parting with power in India; they were bent on encouraging division and strengthening every mediaeval and reactionary element. They seemed to prefer civil war and the ruin of India to a relaxation of their imperialist control.

Used though we were to this kind of treatment, it came as a shock and a feeling of depression grew. I remember writing an article just then to which I gave the title: 'The Parting of the Ways.' I had long stood for the independence of India, convinced that in no other way could we progress and develop as a people, or have normal friendly and co-operative relations with England. Yet I had looked forward to those friendly relations. Now suddenly I felt that unless England changed completely there was no common path for us. We must follow different ways.

Individual Civil Disobedience

So instead of the intoxication of the thought of freedom which would unleash our energies and throw us with a nation's enthusiasm into the world struggle, we experienced the aching frustration of its denial. And this denial was accompanied by an arrogance of language, a self-glorification of British rule and policy, and an enumeration of conditions which were said to be necessary before India could claim freedom, conditions some of which seemed impossible of realization. It became obvious that all this talk and ritual of parliamentary debate in England, of rounded phrases and pompous utterance, was just political trickery, barely veiling the fixed intention to hold on to India as an imperial domain and possession for as long as this was possible. The claws of imperialism would continue deep in the living body of India. And that was the measure of that international order of freedom and democracy for which Britain claimed to be fighting.

There was yet another significant indication: Burma had put forward a modest claim that an assurance of dominion status after the war be given her. This was long before the Pacific War started, and in any event it did not interfere with the war in any way, for it was only intended to take effect after the conclusion of hostilities. She asked for dominion status only, not independence. As in the case of India, she had been told repeatedly that dominion status was the goal of British policy. Unlike India, she was a much more homogeneous country and all the objections, real or fancied, which were advanced by the British in the case of India, did not apply to her. Yet that unanimous demand was refused and no assurance was given. Dominion status was for some distant hereafter; it was a vague and shadowy metaphysical conception which applied to some other world, some different age from ours. It was, as Mr. Winston Churchill had indicated, empty verbiage and ceremony with no relation to the present or to the immediate future. So also the objections that were raised against India's independence, the absurd conditions that were laid down, were empty verbiage which everyone knew had no reality or substance. The only realities were Britain's determination to hold on to India at all costs and India's determination to break this hold. All else was quibbling, lawyer's talk, or diplomatic prevarication. Only the future could show the result of this conflict between incompatibles.

The future showed us soon enough the results of British policy in Burma. In India also that future slowly unrolled itself, bring-ing struggle and bitterness and suffering in its train.

To remain passive spectators of what was happening in India after the last insolent repulse from the British Government became impossible. If this was the attitude of that Government in the middle of a perilous war, when millions of people all over the world believed and faced enormous sacrifices in the cause of freedom, what would it be when the crisis was over and that popular pressure had subsided ? Meanwhile, our people were being picked off all over India and sent to prison; our normal activities were interfered with and restricted. For it must be remembered that the British Government in India is always carrying on a war against the nationalist and labour movements; it does not wait for civil disobedience to take action. That war flares up occasionally and becomes an attack on all fronts, or it tones down a little, but always it has continued [Many people have been in prison continuously from the pre-war period. Some young comrades of mine have now spent fifteen years in prison and are still there. They were boys when they were sentenced, barely out of their teens; now they are grey-haired and middle-aged. I have come across them during my repeated visits to the United Provinces prisons. I have come, stayed for a while, and then gone out; they have remained. Although they are United Provinces men and have been kept for some years in United Provinces prisons, they were sentenced in the Punjab and are therefore under the orders of the Punjab government. The Congress government in the United Provinces recommended their release but the Punjab government did not agree]. During the brief period of Congress governments in the provinces, it was in a quiescent stage, but soon after their resignation it started afresh, and the permanent services took peculiar pleasure in issuing orders to and imprisoning prominent Congressmen and members of the legislatures.

Positive action became inevitable, for sometimes the only failure is in failing to act. That action could only be, in accordance with our established policy, in the nature of civil disobedience. Yet care was taken not to have any popular upheavals, and civil disobedience was limited to chosen individuals. It was what is called individual civil disobedience as contrasted with the mass variety of it. It was really in the nature of a great moral protest. From a politician's point of view it seems odd that we should deliberately avoid any attempt to upset the administration and make it easy for it to put the trouble-makers in prison. That has not been the way of aggressive political action or revolution anywhere else. Yet that was Gandhi's way of combining morality with revolutionary politics, and he was always the inevitable leader when any such movement took place. It was his way of showing that while we refused to submit to British policy and showed our resentment and determination by voluntarily inviting suffering for ourselves, yet our object was not to create trouble.

This individual civil disobedience movement started in a very small way, each person having to pass some kind of a test and get permission before he or she could take part in it. Those who were chosen broke some formal order, were arrested, and sentenced to imprisonment. As is usual with us, men at the top were chosen first—members of the Congress Executive, ex-ministers of provincial governments, members of the legislatures, members of the All-India and Provincial Congress committees. Gradually the circle grew till between twenty-five to thirty thousand men and women were in prison. These included the speakers and a large number of members of our provincial legislative assemblies, which had been suspended by the Government. Thus we demonstrated that if our elected assemblies were not allowed to function their members would not submit to autocratic rule and preferred prison to it.

Apart from those who offered formal civil disobedience, many thousands were arrested and sentenced for making speeches or for some other activity, or detained without trial. I was arrested at an early stage and sentenced to four years' imprisonment for a speech.

From October, 1940, for over a year, all these persons remained in prison. We tried to follow, with such material as we could obtain, the course of the war and of events in India and the world. We read of the Four Freedoms of President Roosevelt, we heard of the Atlantic Charter, and, soon after, of Mr. Churchill's qualification that this Charter^ had no application to India.

In June, 1941, we were stirred by Hitler's sudden attack on Soviet Russia, and followed with anxious interest the dramatic changes in the war situation.

On December 4th, 1941, many of us were discharged. Three days later came Pearl Harbour and the Pacific War.

After Pearl Harbour. Gandhi and Non-Violence

When we came out of prison the nationalist position, the question of India versus England, had in no way changed. Prison affects people in various ways; some break down or weaken, others grow harder and more confirmed in their convictions, and it is usually the latter whose influence is felt more by the mass of the people. But though nationally we remained where we were, Pearl Harbour and what followed it suddenly created a new tension and gave a new perspective. The Congress Working Committee met immediately after in this new atmosphere of tension. The Japanese had made no great advance till then, but major and stunning disasters had already taken place. The war ceased to be a distant spectacle and began to approach India and affect her intimately. Among Congressmen the desire to play an effective part in these perilous developments became strong, and the jail-going business seemed pointless in this new situation; but what could we do unless some door was open for honourable co-operation, and the people could be made to feel some positive inspiration for action ? A negative fear of threatening danger was not enough.

In spite of past history and all that had happened, we were eager to offer our co-operation in the war and especially for the defence of India, subject necessarily to a national government which would enable us to function in co-operation with other elements in the country, and to make the people feel that it was really a national effort and not one imposed by outsiders who had enslaved us. There was no difference of opinion on this general approach among Congressmen and most others, but a vital difference of principle arose rather unexpectedly. Gandhiji found himself unable to give up his fundamental principle of non-violence even in regard to external war. The very nearness of that war became a challenge to him and a test of faith. If he failed at this critical moment, either non-violence was not the all-embracing and basic principle and course of action he had believed it to be, or else he was wrong in discarding it or compromising with it. He could not give up the faith of a lifetime on which he had based all his activities, and he felt that he must accept the necessary consequences and implications of that non-violence.

A similar difficulty and conflict had arisen for the first time about the time of the Munich crisis in 1938, when war seemed to be impending. I was in Europe then and was not present at the discussions that took place. But the difficulty passed with the passing of the crisis and the postponement of war. When war actually started in September, 1939, no such question arose or was discussed by us. It was only in ^he late summer of 1940 that Gandhiji again made it clear co us that he could not make himself a party to violent warfare and he would like the Congress to adopt the same attitude in regard to it. He was agreeable to giving moral and every other kind of help, short of actual assistance in armed and violent warfare. He wanted Congress to declare its adherence to the principle of non-violence even for a free India. He knew, of course, that there were many elements in the country, and even within the Congress, which did not have that faith in non-violence; he realized that a government of free India was likely to discard non-violence when questions of defence were concerned and to build up military, naval, and air power. But he wanted, if possible, for Congress at least to hold the banner of non-violence aloft and thus to train the minds of the people and make them think increasingly in terms of peaceful action. He had a horror of seeing India militarized. He dreamt of India becoming a symbol and example of non-violence, and by her example weaning the rest of the world from war and the ways of violence. Even if India as a whole had not accepted this idea, Congress should not discard it when the time for trial came.

The Congress had long ago accepted the principle and practice of non-violence in its application to our struggle for freedom and in building up unity in the nation. At no time had it gone beyond that position or applied the principle to defence from external aggression or internal disorder. Indeed it had taken an eager interest in the development of the Indian army and frequently demanded the indianization of its officer personnel. The Congress party in the Central Legislature ha,d often moved or participated in resolutions on this subject. As the leader of that party in the 'twenties, my father had accepted membership of the Skeen Committee which had been formed for the indianization and reorganization of the Indian army. He resigned subsequently from it, but that was for political reasons and had nothing to do with non-violence. In 1937-38 the Congress party had put forward in the Central Assembly, after consulting all the provincial governments, proposals for the expansion of the Indian army, its mechanization, the development of the absurdly small and almost non-existent naval and air arms, and the progressive replacement of the British army in India by the Indian army. As the cost of British troops in India was about four times that of the Indian troops, the latter could be mechanized and expanded without much additional cost, if they took the place of British troops. Again during the Munich period the importance of developing the air arm was emphasized, but Government said that expert opinion was not agreed about this. In 1940 the Congress Party especially attended the Central Assembly and repeated all this and pointed out how incompetent the Government and its military department were in making arrangements for India's defence.

At no time, so far as I am aware, was the question of non-violence considered in relation to the army, navy, or air forces, or the police. It was taken for granted that its application was confined to our struggle for freedom. It is true that it had a powerful effect on our thinking in many ways, and it made the Congress strongly favour world disarmament and a peaceful solution of all international, as well as national, disputes.

When the Congress governments were functioning in the provinces, many of them were eager to encourage some form of military training in the universities and colleges. It was the Government of India that disapproved of this and came in the way.

Gandhiji, no doubt, disapproved of these tendencies, but he did not interfere. He did not even like the use of the police as an armed force for the suppression of riots, and he expressed his distress at it. But he put up with it as a lesser evil, and hoped that his teaching would gradually sink into the mind of India. It was his disapproval of such tendencies within the Congress that led him to sever his formal membership connection with the Congress in the early 'thirties, though even so he continued as the undoubted leader and adviser of the Congress. It was an anomalous and un-satisfactory position for all of us, but perhaps it made him feel that thus he was not personally responsible for all the varied decisions which Congress took from time to time, which did not wholly conform to his principles and convictions. Always there has been that inner conflict within him and in our national politics, between Gandhi as a national leader and Gandhi as a man with a prophetic message, which was not confined to India but was for humanity and the world. It is never easy to reconcile a strict adherence to truth as one sees it, with the exigencies and expediencies of life, and especially of political life. Normally people do not even worry themselves over this problem. They keep truth apart in some corner of their minds, if they keep it at all anywhere, and accept expediency as the measure of action. In politics that has been the universal rule, not only because, unfortunately, politicians are a peculiar species of opportunists, but because they cannot act purely on the personal plane. They have to make others act, and so they have to consider the limitations of others and their understanding of, and receptivity to, truth. And because of this they have to make com-promises with that truth and adapt it to the prevailing circumstances. That adaptation becomes inevitable, and yet there are always risks attending it; the tendency to ignore and abandon truth grows, and expediency becomes the sole criterion of action.

Gandhi, for all his rock-like adherence to certain principles, has shown a great capacity to adapt himself to others and to changing circumstances, to take into consideration the strength and weakness of those others, especially of the mass of the people, and how far they were capable of acting up to the truth as he saw it. But from time to time he pulls himself up, as if he were afraid that he had gone too far in his compromising, and returns to his moorings. In the midst of action, he seems to be in tune with the mass mind, responsive to its capacity and therefore adapting himself to it to some extent; at other times he becomes more theoretical and apparently less adaptable. There is also the same difference observable in his action and his writings. This is confusing to his own people, and more so to others who are ignorant of the background in India.

How far a single individual can influence a people's thought and ideology, it is difficult to say. Some people in history have exerted a powerful influence, and yet, it may be that they have emphasized and brought out something that already existed in the mind of the people, or have given clear and pointed expression to the vaguely felt ideas of the age. Gandhi's influence on India's mind has been profound in the present age; how long and in what form it will endure only the future can show. His influence is not limited to those who agree with him or accept him as a national leader; it extends to those also who disagree with him and criticize him. Very few persons in India accept in its entirety his doctrine of non-violence or his economic theories, yet very many have been influenced by them in some way or other. Usually speaking in terms of religion, he has emphasized the moral approach to political problems as well as those of everyday life. The religious background has affected those chiefly who were inclined that way, but the moral approach has influenced others also. Many have been appreciably raised to higher levels of moral and ethical action, many more have been forced to think at least in those terms, and that thought itself has some effect on action and behavior. Politics cease to be just expediency and opportunism, as they usually have been everywhere, and there is a continuous moral tussle preceding thought and action. Expediency, or what appears to be immediately possible and desirable, can never be ignored, but it is toned down by other considerations and a longer view of more distant consequences.

Gandhi's influence in these various directions has pervaded India and left its mark. But it is not because of his non-violence or economic theories that he has become the foremost and most outstanding of India's leaders. To the vast majority of India's people he is the symbol of India determined to be free, of militant nationalism, of a refusal to submit to arrogant might, of never agreeing to anything involving national dishonour. Though many people in India may disagree with him on a hundred matters, though they may criticize him or even part company from him on some particular issue, at a time of action and struggle when India's freedom is at stake they flock to him again and look up to him as their inevitable leader.

When Gandhiji raised in 1940 the question of non-violence in relation to the war and the future of free India, the Congress Work-ing Committee had to face the issue squarely. They made it clear to him that they were unable to go as far as he wanted them to go and could not possibly commit India or the Congress to future applications of this principle in the external domain. This led to a definite and public break with him on this issue. Two months later further discussions led to an agreed formula which was later adopted as part of a resolution by the All-India Congress Com-mittee. That formula did not wholly represent Gandhiji's attitude; it represented what he agreed, perhaps unwillingly, that Congress should say on this subject. At that time the British Government had already rejected the latest offer made by the Congress for co-operation in the war on the basis of a national government. Some kind of conflict was approaching and, as was inevitable, both Gandhiji and Congress looked towards each other and were impelled by a desire to find a way out of the deadlock between them. The formula did not refer to the war, as just previously our offer of co-operation had been unceremoniously and utterly rejected. It dealt theoretically with the Congress policy in regard to non-violence, and for the first time stated how, in the opinion of the Congress, the free India of the future should apply it in its external relations. That part of the resolution ran thus: The All-India Congress Committee 'firmly believes in the policy and practice of non-violence, not only in the struggle for Swaraj, but also, in so far as this may be possible of application, in free India. The Committee is convinced, and recent world events have demonstrated, that complete world disarmament is necessary an ' the establishment of a new and juster political and economic order, if the world is not to destroy itself and revert to barbarism. A free India will, therefore, throw all her weight in favour of world disarmament and should herself be prepared to give a lead in this to the world. Such lead will inevitably depend on external factors and internal conditions, but the state would do its utmost to give effect to this policy of disarmament. Effective disarmament and the establishment of world peace by the ending of national wars depend ultimately on the removal of the causes of wars and national conflicts. These causes must be rooted out by the ending of the domination of one country over another and the exploitation of one people or group by another. To that end India will peacefully labour and it is with this objective in view that the people of India desire to attain the status of a free and independent nation. Such freedom will be the prelude to the close association with other countries within a comity of free nations for the peace and progress of the world.' This declaration, it will be noticed, while strongly affirming the Congress wish for peaceful action and disarmament, also emphasized a number of qualifications and limitations.

The internal crisis within the Congress was resolved in 1940 and then came a year of prison for large numbers of us. In December, 1941, however, the same crisis took shape again when Gandhiji insisted on complete non-violence. Again there was a split and public disagreement, and the president of the Congress, Maulana Abdul Kalam Azad, and others were unable to accept Gandhiji's viewpoint. It became clear that the Congress as a whole, including some of the faithful followers of Gandhiji, disagreed with him in this matter. The force of circumstances and the rapid succession of dramatic events influenced all of us, including Gandhiji, and he refrained from pressing his viewpoint on the Congress, though he did not identify himself with the Congress view.

At no other time was this issue raised by Gandhiji in the Congress. When later Sir Stafford Cripps came with his proposals, there was no question of non-violence. His proposals were considered purely from the political point of view. In late months, leading up to August, 1942, Gandhiji's nationalism and intense desire for freedom made him even agree to Congress participation in the war if India could function as a free country. For him this was a remark-able and astonishing change, .involving suffering of the mind and pain of the spirit. In the conflict between that principle of non-violence, which had become his very life-blood and meaning of existence, and India's freedom, which was a dominating and consuming passion for him, the scales inclined towards the latter. That did not mean, of course, that he weakened in his faith in non-violence. But it did mean that he was prepared to agree to the Congress not applying it in this war. The practical statesman took precedence over the uncompromising prophet.

As I have watched and thought over this frequent struggle in Gandhi's mind, which has led often to so many seeming contradictions—and which affected me and my activities so intimately—I have remembered a passage in one of Liddell Hart's books: 'The idea of the indirect approach is closely related to all problems of the influence of mind over mind—the most influential factor in human history. Yet it is hard to reconcile with another lesson: that true conclusions can only be reached, or approached, by pursuing the truth without regard to where it may lead or what its effect may be—on different interests.

'History bears witness to the vital part that the "prophets" have played in human progress—which is evidence of the ultimate practical value of expressing unreservedly the truth as one sees it. Yet it also becomes clear that the acceptances and spreading of that vision has always depended on another class of men— "leaders" who had to be philosophical strategists, striking a compromise between truth and men's receptivity to it. Their effect has often depended on their own limitations in perceiving the truth as on their practical wisdom in proclaiming it.

'The prophets must be stoned; that is their lot, and the test of their self fulfillment. But a leader who is stoned may merely prove that he has failed in his function through a deficiency of wisdom, or through confusing his function with that of a prophet. Time alone can tell whether the effect of such a sacrifice redeems the apparent failure as a leader that does honour to him as a man. At the least he avoids the more common fault of leaders—that of sacrificing the truth to expediency without ultimate advantage to the cause. For whoever habitually suppresses the truth in the interests of tact will produce a deformity from the womb of his thought.

'Is there a practical way of combining progress towards the attainment of truth with progress towards its acceptance? A possible solution of the problem is suggested by reflection on strategic principles—which point to the importance of maintaining an object consistently and, also, of pursuing it in a way adapted to circumstances. Opposition to the truth is inevitable, especially if it takes the form of a new idea, but the degree of resistance can be diminished—by giving thought not only to the aim but to the method of approach. Avoid a frontal attack on a long established position; instead seek to turn it by a flank movement, so that a more penetrable side is exposed to the thrust of truth. But, in any such indirect approach, take care not to diverge from the truth— for nothing is more fatal to its real advancement than to lapse into untruth.

'Looking back on the stages by which various fresh ideas gained acceptance, it can be seen that the process was eased when they could be presented, not as something radically new, but as the revival in modern terms of a time-honoured principle or practice that had been forgotten. This, required not deception but care to trace the connection—since "there is nothing new under the sun." [Liddell Hart: 'The Strategy of Indirect Approach' (1941), Preface].