Waiting for the Mahatma

 

The Mahatma made five visits to Bangalore — in 1915, 1920, 1927, 1934, and 1936. He stayed at Nandi Hills and the Kumara Krupa Guesthouse. G.N. PRASHANTH recaptures the charisma of the great man who was assassinated this day 55 years ago. 

WAS THE everyday life of the Mahatma more telling than his precepts on politics in those five explorations he made to the salubrious city of Bangalore at various points of time? That is more or less the impression one gets from what little one gets to read or hear about his Bangalore experience. Not that there wasn't any politics, much of it was overshadowed by the remarkable interest people had in him — how he walked, sat, spoke, slept, what he ate and drank, what he said to a student keen to shake his hand — and in the intense need to give him the best — weather, warmth, and food — almost to the point that they hoped the Mahatma would tell so many others that this was the best retreat he could think of in the vast land that was India.

When it was first known that he was coming to Bangalore, the Maharaja of Mysore went gaga, dashing off a letter to the Mahatma requesting him to tour the entire State. He then asked Dewan Mirza Ismail to ensure maximum comfort during his stay. And when Gandhiji finally arrived, one of the first things done was to find out his diet. When it was known that he preferred goat's milk, Sir Mirza asked the villagers around Nandi Hills, where the Mahatma was to stay, to ensure its adequate supply. Both and Hindu and Muslim shepherds ensured he got the best.

During his stay at Bangalore, Gandhiji started a correspondence with Sarojini Naidu expressing anxiety over Muslim leader Ansari's hesitation to take up the Congress leadership. He felt it was crucial that he did, as he did not want Muslims to be left out of a predominantly Hindu Congress. Gandhiji, in fact, invited Sarojini Naidu to share her own ideas on the matter.

Meanwhile, in their over-enthusiasm to keep the Mahatma supplied with goat's milk, the hosts found themselves with a glut. Dewan Seshadri Iyer's cook, Shyam Iyer, came up with the idea of setting up a vegetarian restaurant on the Hills. "People waiting to see the Mahatma would drink litres of tea and coffee. The joy of supplying milk to the Mahatma was so much that whatever milk remained was given away to the restaurant. People felt happy that they were partaking of the milk the Mahatma drank," says H.S. Doreswamy, well-known Gandhian and freedom fighter. 

This, at a time when the nation was wondering how to strengthen bonds among Hindus and Muslims. Both Hindus and Muslims supplying milk to a Brahmin restaurant atop a hill could not have come at a more appropriate time!

The fascination with Gandhiji was so much that the people of Chickaballapur decided that they would take care of all his expenses at the Hills. And a certain Brahmachari Ramachandran, who supervised all arrangements, ensured that the committee did not fall short on the promise. Not only this, when the Mahatma was to climb to the hilltop, there was much excitement. "Volunteers lined up on the steps up to the hill top hoping to carry the Mahatma. He refused and walked all the way up," reveals Mr. Doreswamy, adding that the sprightly leader left a trail of disappointed people in his wake.After Gandhiji said his prayers in the evening, he would always have time for people from any walk of life, be it C.V. Raman, Pandit Taranath, T.P. Kailasam or an eager student. "Students would wait with bated breath to get a glimpse of the Mahatma, especially during the prayer meetings," Mr. Doreswamy reveals.

The educationist and former vice-chancellor of Bangalore University, H. Narasimhaiah recalls: "We sat around a big tree and watched the Mahatma speak. Some of us would even be part of the prayers."

Though the Mahatma was away from all that was happening north of the Vindhyas, looking for some peace of mind, some time in the midst of the evening prayer, he could not wish away a certain disappointment that came to him from afar. Mr. Doreswamy recalls how disturbed he was when he heard that his son, Hiralal, had converted to Islam. "He was now known as Abdullah Gandhi. It was not too clear how or why he converted. People believed he had gone astray. Gandhiji was pained. Kasturba was devastated."

The Mahatma accepted it philosophically. He wrote, with a sense of urgency, in the Harijan, that conversion should occur out of conviction. He may have hinted his unease over the conversion, but none could question his serious belief in the old idea of harmony.

The Mahatma moved from the hilltop to that lovely building in Bangalore, opposite the golf course, Kumara Krupa. Here too, there was the steady stream of visitors. K.T. Bashyam, K.C. Reddy, T. Subramanya, Kadri Shamanna, K. Srinivas Rao, Dasappa, Sampath Kumar, M. Venkatakrishnaiah, Ramachandra Rao, C.N. Narasinga Rao, Rang Iyengar, Sampige Venkatapathaiah, Narasimha Iyengar, S.K. Venkatranga Iyengar, and many others in the thick of old Mysore's politics were all there. Many among them helped the Mahatma's Harijan Fund, set up to help the weakest and the most discriminated gain access to education, healthcare, and temples. The Mysore State, as a whole, donated Rs. 90,000 to the fund.

While he was working towards the betterment of the Harijans, Gandhiji had taken note of the social reforms and its implications for women. The visit to the Mahila Seva Samaja, where Justice Chandrashekar Iyer and Parvathamma were active, was certainly perceptive. "Many women gave away their ornaments as donation to the Congress movement. Most of them were not employed. They could not afford to make donations in cash," recalls Mr. Doreswamy. Two very active women, Gowramma and Rajamma, were among the first to initiate such donations.

A couple of political meetings were organised at around the same time, the mid-Thirties, at the Visweswarpuram Shraddananda Bhavan and the National High School grounds. In one such meeting, meant only for women, Elizabeth Brunner, an Englishwoman, fascinated by the Mahatma, could not resist sketching his portrait, which eventually became well known. It was a crowded meeting, and it was not easy for Ms. Brunner to grab his attention. But the Mahatma caught her eye and was more than willing to pose for her.

Gandhiji's charisma never waned. People waited for him at the Yeshwantpur Railway Station from nine in the night for his train that was to arrive at 6 a.m.. They would practically fight to carry him on their shoulders during a procession on Seshadri Road. 

Narasimhaiah recalls how Sampath Giri Rao, his teacher, wanted him to translate the Mahatma's speech from the Hindi. "I was one among the student volunteers. I was selected to translate his speech as I knew some Hindi. Gandhiji put his hand on my shoulder and asked me whether I could speak Hindi. I said, `Thoda thoda aatha hai.' He laughed and walked away. I was told then that he was happy at my enthusiasm, but wondered how the translation could be done if I knew only a little bit of Hindi."

Mr. Doreswamy captures what must have been the sentiment of the times: "He was an inspiration for all. He was almost God. All of us knew he had done some wonderful work in South Africa. It was thrilling to know he was coming so close to where we lived. I was a student when I saw Gandhiji, and I remember how fast he would walk and how we almost ran to catch up with him."

In the midst of this fast-paced life, the Mahatma found time to unveil Gopal Krishna Gokhale's portrait at Central College, his "guru, so to speak". "He was the one who asked Gandhiji to walk into the thick of Indian life to understand it. And this, before he wanted him to mobilise politics," remarks Mr. Doreswamy.

The Mahatma's visit brought with it an interesting contradiction in Mysore State: the Maharaja treated him as a state guest, but he locked up local leaders because he did not take kindly to their agitation. Gandhiji could not do much about that, given that he did not have much time on hand, and his health did not permit him to do too much.

There was some nationalist activity all right, but the time between 1920 and 1940, when the Mahatma was here, Bangalore was not a centre for intense political activity. Even as the Mysore Congress had stalwarts, the Maharaja was a man of the times.

If one expected Gandhiji's explorations to give an impetus to the Mysore Congress, that did not really happen. What certainly galvanised the public was an anticipation about the Mahatma's habits — as the tapestry of images one reconstructs through memories of those who lived through those times illustrates.

We are told that the Mahatma went back a rested man and in good spirits after his visits to Bangalore.