Tara had set up a makeshift arrangement for making tea in the room next to the drawing room. She sent cups of tea and snacks through Jugal, or through Nundlall, the chauffeur. Stray remarks and bits of conversation in impassioned voices fell upon her ears:
‘That would be suicidal for the Hindus. The mullahs are poisoning the atmosphere.’
‘Why would Sardar Patel agree? He’d never agree to that!’
Tara heard madam’s voice, ‘Nundlall! Tell Tara to send in a few more cups of tea.’
‘Let Gandhi die! What do we care if he’s opposed to an even-handed settlement. The Cabinet has reached a decision. Should the Cabinet go back on its decision just because of him? What about the credibility of the government?’
‘It was in yesterday’s news that the Pakistanis massacred every single one of the two thousand passengers on a train. And he wants to make a present to them of 550 million rupees?’
‘Mukherjee won’t give in. Let’s all go to him.’
‘Will Gandhi have our demolished temples rebuilt? Rai Sahib, you must join up with us.’
‘There must be a demonstration by the refugees. We’ll make the city of Delhi tremble. What can a handful of Congress people do to stop us?’
The whole day was filled with such excited talk. Tara also felt that Gandhiji’s fast was detrimental to the Hindus, that it was meant to protect the Muslims. What she had heard made her think: It would be suicidal for the Hindus to accept Gandhiji’s demands. People did not trust Pandit Nehru and Maulana Azad, but surely Sardar Patel, Shyama Prasad Mukherjee and Sardar Baldev Singh won’t let such excesses happen. Why was Gandhiji doing this? What might happen next?
Narottam had also been present in the drawing room. When they met in the afternoon, she looked at him inquiringly.
‘The situation is very tense. Gandhiji’s fast is a denial of the decision of the Cabinet. It’s against the nation’s interest, and favours Pakistan. The masses support the Cabinet’s position.’ Narottam’s voice was tense with anxiety.
Tara said, ‘If Gandhiji wanted to fast to prevent something, he should have done it to prevent the partition of the country. Why do it after the worst has happened?’
On 14 January at 11.30 in the morning, Jugal relayed a message to Tara, ‘You are wanted in the drawing room. Prasadji has come.’
‘Where’s bahinji?’
‘She’s also there.’
Tara adjusted her dhoti around her shoulders, and nervously went to the drawing room. She found that Mr Agarwal and Narottam were also there.
Mr Agarwal said, as Tara entered, ‘Come over here and have a seat.’
Prasadji looked very grave. He continued with what he was saying,
‘Everyone from the Council of Ministers has reached Birla House. The Cabinet is holding a meeting on the lawn, near Gandhiji’s bed. As representatives of Delhi’s citizens, you all should go to Gandhiji and give him your word that there will be complete peace in the city.’
‘But there was a demonstration yesterday with people shouting slogans ‘Let Gandhi die’, and chanting that they won’t allow the transfer of assets to Pakistan, and so on,’ Mrs Agarwal said in a worried tone.
‘Sardar Patel has taken care of all those troublemakers by imposing Section 144 that forbids public gatherings. The government cannot tolerate disorder. The army is patrolling the streets. Pandit Nehru and Sardar Patel want the representatives of the citizens to reassure Gandhiji that peace and goodwill will prevail. Rai Sahib, you have to get involved now. You should take the lead at this moment. You should be among the representatives of the Hindus.’
Mr Agarwal sat thinking, cracking the joints of his fingers.
Prasadji turned towards Mrs Agarwal, ‘Pandit Nehru and Sardar Patel also said…’
‘But the Cabinet’s decision was different…’ Mr Agarwal said with concern.
‘I’m telling you that Pandit Nehru and Sardar Patel have asked for this show of support,’ Prasadji cut in. ‘The Cabinet’s final decision can wait.’
‘Section 144 and army patrols. Do you suppose Gandhiji would have approved of this? This amounts to peace by sword and guns! This goes against the whole spirit of his fast. If peace has to be maintained by the use of force, what’s the use of his fast?’ Narottam asked
‘You don’t understand. It’s an international crisis. Gandhiji is India’s soul,’ Prasadji said heatedly. ‘Administering the country is one thing, Gandhiji’s wish is another. We all can’t be like him. The government and Gandhiji have the same end in mind.’
Prasadji turned to Mrs Agarwal, ‘Well, bahinji. You, Dayavantiji, Begum Kazmi and Mrs Chausia will lead the women’s delegation to Birla House. Tara bahin, you must come along too.’
‘What’ll she do there? We need someone here at home.’
‘What are you saying, bahinji?’ Prasadji cut Mrs Agarwal short. ‘It’s a question of Gandhiji’s life, it’s a question of Asia’s prestige. Her presence is very important; it will create a great impression. The refugees are the ones opposing Gandhiji. The more refugee women come along, the better.’
‘All right! Take her along. You go with her,’ Mr Agarwal cracked another joint as he looked at Tara.
‘She doesn’t have any khadi clothes…’
‘That doesn’t matter. Not only the Congress party members, but all kinds of people should go to Gandhiji.’
Mrs Agarwal’s big car, carrying her, Tara and Mrs Dayavanti Jeevan Singh was approaching Birla House when their way was blocked by a procession marching in the same direction. The marchers carried placards with boldly painted slogans: Blood for blood! Let Gandhi die! Gandhi is a traitor! India belongs to us! Kashmir belongs to us!’
‘Hai, what’s this?’ Mrs Agarwal asked apprehensively.
‘Pandit Nehru! Nehruji!’ exclaimed Dayavantiji.
Two police motorcycle outriders coming in from the opposite direction braked to a stop. A motor car flying the Indian flag also stopped behind them. Two outriders bringing up the rear moved forward and stopped on either side of the car.
A policeman signalled Mrs Agarwal’s car to stop on the left-hand side of the road.
The marchers still shouted, ‘Down with Gandhi! Let Gandhi die! Gandhi is a traitor!’
Pandit Nehru got out of the car. He walked fearlessly towards the protesters. Several police officers quickly surrounded him on all sides.
Nehru challenged the crowd, ‘Who wants Gandhi to die?’
The crowd shouted back, ‘Gandhi is a traitor! Let Gandhi die!’
Nehru took two steps forward, ‘Whoever wants Gandhi to die, let him kill me first! Come forward whoever has the guts!’
The crowd fell silent.
Nehru repeated his challenge, ‘Step forward whoever has the guts!’
The crowd stood in a stunned silence.
Nehru scolded the crowd, ‘You should all be ashamed of yourselves! You’re saying such absurd things about a person sacrificing his life for you, who has put his life at stake for you. Gandhiji is the soul of this nation, he’s the heart of this nation. If he dies, you and I and the whole country will die. What will the world think of us then?’
The crowd remained speechless.
Pandit Nehru asked the police officers, ‘Why are these people gathered here? Why is the road blocked?’ He got back into his car.
‘Please disperse! Don’t block the road!’ came the order. The motorcycles roared and the car drove off with its police escort.
Tara, Mrs Agarwal and Dayavantiji watched with bated breath. Everything had happened within the space of one minute.
Tara breathed a sigh of relief as their car began to move again.
‘What shameless people,’ said Mrs Agarwal.
A constant stream of motor cars arrived at Birla House. Police constables directed the cars to be parked on both sides of the road in orderly rows, taking care that the road was not blocked. The police kept the whole area under surveillance. Visitors were checked at the entrance before being allowed to pass in.
A group of women and Prasadji were waiting in the veranda. A deathly hush pervaded the house. People walked on tiptoes and spoke in whispers.
‘You’re all late! Hurry up!’ said Prasadji.
Congress volunteers stood on guard all around, but Prasadji motioned to them, and a way was made for the delegation of women to come through.
Gandhiji sat slumped against a large cushion on the bed, a pashmina shawl around his shoulders. Two mullahs with long flowing beards sat beside him, drying their tears.
Gandhiji’s eyes were closed and his face was sombre. The women said namaste and sat down. Tara could hear her pulse pounding in that heart-wrenching silence.
Gandhiji opened his eyes. He joined his hands in greeting to the women. He said to the mullahs, ‘You yourselves have admitted that you gave me an exaggerated picture of the situation. I suspected as much when I heard your overblown account. I didn’t say anything at the time because you were all in a dangerous position. I hope you’ve learned a lesson on what exaggeration can lead to. I have faith only in Allah. He will show us the way.’
Gandhiji looked at the group of women. Dayavantiji was sitting closest to him. She assured Gandhiji on behalf of the women of Delhi that they have taken vows to end communal violence and to restore peace. Gandhiji should accept their plea to end his fast, or the country would be orphaned at this critical hour of its birth.
Gandhiji expressed his faith in the promises of the women. He said, ‘My fast is meant to awaken a sprit of compassion and a sense of duty in
the hearts of the people. I feel sorry and ashamed that it was women who suffered the most in both parts of the country. My fast is a protest against those atrocities, to do penance for them. When I am convinced that the people’s hearts are purged of hatred, I will not refuse what you are asking me to do. Please have trust in God. Pray to Him to give guidance to the people of our country.’
The sound of loud calls and the chanting of slogans came from the direction of the road outside.
‘Blood for blood! Let Gandhi die!’
‘Gandhi is a traitor to this country!’
‘Throw the Muslims out! Kashmir is ours!’
‘We won’t allow any payment to Pakistan!’
The women trembled at the thought of the violent mob reaching the gates of Birla House.
‘Who are these people?’ Gandhiji asked in a low voice.
‘Bapu, some people are making noise on the road outside,’ a girl standing beside Gandhiji replied. ‘Bapu, pay no attention to them.’
‘What are they saying?’ Gandhiji asked.
‘Bapu, they are saying, “Let Gandhi die”,’ said the girl.
Gandhiji closed his eyes for a moment, then asked, ‘How many are there?’
‘Bapu, not many. Just a few, creating a disturbance. They’ll soon go away.’
‘Ram! Ram! Ram!’ Gandhiji again closed his eyes.
Two women sitting close by began to chant
ramdhun
in a low voice.
Tears rolled down the women’s cheeks. Tara was seated at the very back of the room. The incidents at Lahore, what she had been through, and the atrocities she had witnessed flashed before her eyes. This great soul was sacrificing his life in protest at the savagery of the whole nation, to atone for their sins. He’s truly the soul of the nation! She herself, her brother and so many in Lahore had tried to prevent the madness from spreading. They had never imagined that enmity between neighbours would lead to such a horrible end. She herself was one of its victims. But she was willing to forgive and forget all that if it would save the life of this great soul, and bring success to his mission.
Tara and Narottam reached for the newspapers the moment they were delivered. Every headline was about Gandhiji’s condition and his efforts for peace and communal unity. In the legislative assembly of West Pakistan,
Sir Feroze Khan Noon, Nawab Daultana and Khan of Mamdot had paid homage to his mission, and called him the greatest man in the world after the Prophets.
On the morning of 16 January, newspapers reported that the Indian government had reversed its earlier decision, and had announced that it would immediately release the arrears of payments to Pakistan. The government, in a lengthy press statement, justified the Cabinet’s earlier decision, and explained the new decision as a gesture of faith and goodwill in support of Gandhiji’s creed of non-violence.
The newspapers carried a statement by Gandhiji that the reversal of the decision by the Cabinet should not be taken as a sign of instability in the new administration after the transfer of power or an act of surrender, but rather as a magnanimous and far-sighted action. Gandhiji expressed hope that the Cabinet’s gesture would help find an amicable solution to the Kashmir problem. He also gave assurance that if Delhi’s Hindus, Sikhs and Muslims signed a joint declaration to renounce violence and end communal strife, he would end his fast.
The Maharaja of Patiala arrived in Delhi, and called upon all Sikhs to save Gandhiji’s life by ensuring an end to violence and strife. The Nawab of Malerkotla came to Delhi to meet with prominent Muslim clerics and leaders, and the high commissioner of Pakistan advised the Muslims in India to stop living in fear and to do everything they could to maintain peace. The leaders of the Hindu Mahasabha and of the Rashtriya Swayamsewak Sangh made appeals against any action that might jeopardize hopes of Gandhiji ending his fast. Pandit Nehru gave many public addresses.
A storm of peace efforts broke over Delhi. Processions of refugees and citizens of Delhi marched in every part of the city, chanting slogans and calling for peace.
A rumour was heard that Lord Mountbatten, Pandit Nehru and the well-known journalist Arthur Moore also had started to fast in support of Gandhiji.
Thousands of people in the city of Delhi began a fast as a symbol of their prayers for the success of Gandhiji’s mission. Before the Partition, the Sabzi Mandi was a predominantly Muslim area. Hardly any Muslims lived there now. The Hindu refugees living in Sabzi Mandi invited one hundred and fifty Muslims from various parts of the city to a communal banquet.
A delegation of one hundred Muslim women wearing burkas went
to Birla House to meet Gandhiji, and pleaded with him to break his fast without any delay. They told Gandhiji that all of them had been fasting for the past three days in sympathy with his cause.