INDIA REVISITED: VI. AWKWARD PROBLEMS IN CALCUTTA

By F. YEATS-BROWN

[This is the sixth of a series of articles which Mr. Yeats-Brown has been specially commissioned by " The Spectator" to write on contemporary India. The seventh, which will appear next week under tlw ..title "India of the Great Plains," deals with incidents in the writer's journey from Orissa to Madras.] THERE is much to see and do in Calcutta, but my own predilection is to linger in Park Street Cemetery where the judges who tried Noneomar are buried, and, where also you may see the 'graves ef Rose Aylmer (" Whom these wakeful eyes, May weep but never see !") and-Charlotte Barry, who was mistress of William Hickey; the diarist. The place distils the atmosphere of those eighteenth-century days when Englishmen "Now took a fleet, now sold a pound of tea; 'Weighed soap, stormed forth, held Princes in terrorent."

Those times have ended, never to return; but Calcutta is still the 'richest and most European city in the East. Too European, a friend told me, too much "the London of our tropic realm."

"The Club situation is bad here," he said. " Indians will never believe that we are serious about the reforms until they are admitted to our clubs. That's illogical, if you- like, but understandable. If they aren't good enoughto mix with us, how should they be able to govern I hemselves ? The Bengal, the Turf, and the Saturday are all closed to Indians. So are the golf clubs. Never ask an Indian if he plays golf in Calcutta, for the answer will be that he can't !

"Yesterday," my friend continued, "I saw the spectacles and pipe of Sen Gupta, the famous Mayor of Calcutta, -preserved in an Educational Exhibition. Ile has become a national hero ; and do you know why he came to hate us ? He used to be in the Indian Civil Service, and went to. Chittagong as Collector, with his wife ; none of the English people in the station called on them. - Sen Gupta was blackballed for the Chittagong club, just as Moti Lal Nehru was blackballed -for the Allahabad Club. It's not surprising that such men be- come our bitterest enemies ! "

"Frankly, I think it is a little surprising," I replied. "And I know that some Indians agree with me. They don't like our dubs:" "Yes, but in an up-country station- the club is the only convenient- place where you can meet the other residents and play games, whether you like it or not. If you are considered fit to be the chief representative of Government in a district, it is absurd that You should be debarred from its club just because of the colour of your Skin. how would 5,4ou like to be kept out of a club .- England merely because you were an Englishman ? " I admitted that I would not like it at all, but now my friend's wife (he is a British official, by the way) began to put another point of view.

" Last year we were looking after young Blank," she said, " who was wounded by the terrorists. His nerve had gone. I used to take him for a drive in the evening, and then to dance at the Saturday Club. Do you think I could have taken him to a place where there were Bengalis ? Remember, he was dealing with them all day, in the course of his work. In the evening he wanted a change. That would have been natural, wouldn't it, even if they hadn't tried to murder him ? "

" I suppose so," I said. " Still, it was unfortunate, since his job happens to be with Bengalis."

" Unfortunate, yes, but whose fault is it ? And there's another thing : if Indians want to come to our clubs, they shouldn't keep their wives in purdah. There are still a great many ladies in purdah. you know, in spite of all the talk of emancipation. Why should I meet an Indian who doesn't allow my husband to see his wife ? In the Lake Club they have a good rule : Indians may become members on condition that they bring the ladies of their families, but not otherwise." • Writing of Mr. Blank brings me to a subject I would willingly neglect ; but if' I did so, I should give a mis- leading picture of Bengal as it is today. Terrorism con- tinues to exist. Although the situation has taken a turn for the better since 1934, the quiet is only compara, tive to the upheaval of 1930. Since then, murderous attacks on officials have been made, revolutionary appeals have been published, there have been threats to magis- trates, arms and dynamite have been discovered. A friend of mine who visited a Girls' School near Calcutta was surprised to find that the young ladies were being taught dagger play. Mr. Subhas Chandra Bose, in his recent book, Struggle in India, regrets that no attempt has been made to win over the Army and the Police, and that revenue is collected without obstruction, Obviously there is highly inflammable material here. My information (not front official sources only, but from Indian friends who arc by no means uncritical of Government) is that there are revolutionary organisations which no conciliation can appease : secret societies similar to the Black hand of the Balkans, waiting for their moment to strike. Three times restrictive measures have been repealed, and three times there has been a recrudescence of violence.

' Yet violence is definitely alien to the true mind of India. The descendants of the sages who preached kindness to all creation have not forgotten their tradi- tions. Even those who have been advocates and insti- gators of violence in their youth, Often turn to religion in their middle age, and practice ahimsa. . . . Among the 51,000,000 people in Bengal, therefore, there is a large body of opinion which holds that terrorism is wicked. Probably not more than one per cent, of the population sympathises with it, and there arc probably not more than 3,000 terrorists still at large, though that is quite ,enough. Owing to intimidation, however, the police cannot secure evidence to bring these sinister people to trial.. Hence the Bengal Criminal Law Amendment Act of 1930, which suspends the ordinary processes of law, while providing safeguards for suspected persons, and judicial scrutiny of each case. At present there are 1,400 persons who have been placed in detention, or under surveillance.

To keep people under arrest without trial, especially mere boys, is an ugly necessity ; and every effort is being made to turn the energies of these lads into constructive channels. I visited a camp in which eighty of them were learning to farm (eventually there will be one agricultural and four industrial units, dealing with live hundred boys) and was impressed by the possibilities of the experiment: The boys to whom I spoke, working in the fields, were cheerful and eager to show that they could " rough it." Most of them had come from sheltered, urban homes : here they lived in barracks, clean and comfortable enough, it is trw, but still in what must have been for them very strmge surroundings.

What a tragedy that these lads have been allowed to go wrong in their formative years.' Nearly all are under- sized and narrowlehested, but they do not look like criminals. In fact, if one may judge from appearances (which Borstal experts, however, tell me is quite impossible) these boys would not have become con- spirators, given steady employment. (Or even Communists, which, of course, they have a right to be, and generally are.) Bengali boys are very emotional, and inclined to be neurotic. When the professions arc blocked, what is an aspiring youth to do ? His energies must find some out- let. Romantic love does not engage his thoughts, as it engages the thoughts of many young Europeans, for he has probably been married ever since he took an interest in sex. He may have children to keep long before he is out of his teens.

While still callow and unbalanced, he may find life difficult in his family circle : he may well long for a wider, more exciting life. To such a boy the cult of the Mother—Mother India with a thousand wounds waiting to be avenged—makes an irresistible appeal to his unsatisfied desires. He comes under the influence of sonic members-of---say—the Ghadr Party, and is initiated into a secret society, sometimes with rites appealing to all that is twisted and perverted in human nature. Now his troubles vanish : what does it matter if he is in debt, relative-ridden, unemployed, sick in mind and body ? He has a place in the world, an ideal, a mission. Freedom is a goddess : he worships her feet, and from there it is but a step to striking a blow on her behalf.

Mr. Barindra Ghose, a converted revolutionary, and brother of the famous Arabindo Ghose, is a slight, middle- aged man, with thinning and grey hair, a magnificent forehead, and dark eyes in which the fire and eloquence of his race glow undimmed. He told me that in 1905 he was responsible for introducing murder as a politica! weapon in Bengal. He and his brother came to Calcutta from Baroda, published Yugantar, made bombs, planned robberies and assassinations. Now he is a yogi, awl his brother, a mute ascetic in Pondidierry, is consideml by the youth of India to be the greatest saint since Ramakrishna : he also has completely abjured violence.

"I have changed and India has changed," said Mr. Rarindra- Ghose. "But some of our young men an still in the old groove. I have published Wounded Humanity to try to get them out of it. We've had to much of politics, and too little of constructive idealism. Of course we must co-operate with Government. The British element can only be eliminated very slowly."

Soon, however, the talk diverged from polities to philosophy. I told Mr. Ghose that my guru had died in 1934, and that I hoped to find guidance during this visit to India. He invited me to his ashram. " The Light," he said, " is catching, like fire, travelling from point to point, from soul to soul, given the right conditions and the spiritually auspicious moment." • Alas for that moment ! I had many appointment s that morning, and had promised to go to the races in the afternoon.

At the Belur Math, the headquarters of the Ramakrislina Mission, I saw the room where Vivekananda died : Vivekananda who electrified Chicago in 1886 and after- wards charmed England with his eloquence. Today the Mission has branches in all parts of the world, devoted, not to changing anyone's religion, but to teaching that all the great religions of the world are paths to a central Truth. Then I went to the Gaudiya Math whose Swamis have built themselves a temple in the busiest part of Calcutta, and are planning to build another in London : they publish a monthly magazine in English, The Harmonist, explaining the Vaishna viewpoint. Finally to luncheon with Sir Jagadis and Lady Bose, dear friends through whose minds I can see and reverence the soul of Asia. . . . Sir Jagadis, of course, is world-famous ; but these good priests of the Belur and Gaudiya Maths are also looking beyond their parish pumps. . . .

And so back, through slums, and rich Chowringhee, to the races.

Acres of smart cars are parked outside the enclosure. Inside there is a huge crowd. The totalisators arc busy. Satiny coats of thoroughbreds gleam in the dappled sunshine of the paddock. All is glitter and gaiety against a background of green lawns and white railings. It is a thoroughly English scene, except that all except a very small proportion of the actors in it are Indian. . . .

Charming women in saris consult their race-canis with a knowing air. What delicate hands they have. what perfect colour-harmonics they wear, how graceful are all their movements ! In them we see changing India : the India that will lend her suppleness to our bureaucracy.

Looking across the Maidan towards the Victoria Memorial, I can see several cricket matches in progres,. . . . And there are the horses trotting down to the starting-gate. We have brought commerce, cricket, the English thoroughbred, and democracy to Bengal : also Calcutta. Three centuries ago there was nothing here, not even a village. Now there is a city of 1,500,000 people with a trade of £280 millions a year. That is a grand achievement, though the result is certainly far from perfect. Perfection is very rare in this world : but Bengalis and British together will :turn some difficult corners in the future, as they have in the past. "The Light is catching, like fire, travelling from point to point, from soul to soul." . . .