ATONEMENT
K. T. NARASIMHA CHAR
Principal
Robertson, as was usual with him, was on his way to the college library just a
minute before 7-30 in the morning. As he approached it, he could hear a lot of
noise near by. The voices of a large number of boys were audible, there was
laughter floating on the air from care-free hearts, shouting and clapping of
hands even. He reached the quadrangle in front of the library and stopped short
in amazement.
In
the centre of the quadrangle that was adorned by a
marble bust of Dr. John Robertson, the founder of the college and grand-father
of the present Principal, five boys were seated on the floor at the foot of the
statue. There were dozens of other boys gathered round them, chatting with them
and cracking jokes. All the five students were clad in spotless white khaddar
and wore white Gandhi caps. They were busy spinning yarn on charkhas.
Principal
Robertson walked towards the five spinners.
“What’s
all this, boys?” he asked. “You, here, Ram Mohan? And you, too, Rahim and John? You
are up to some mischief, I guess!”
“You
are mistaken, Sir,” answered Ram Mohan, continuing his spinning.
“What’re
you all doing here then?” questioned the Principal.
“Sir,”
replied Mohan calmly, as he stopped plying his charkha,
“we are on hunger-strike–the five of us whom you see spinning–since last
night.”
“Hunger-strike!”
gasped the Principal. “What for? Do you know, boys,
what it means? Come, no more fooling of this kind! Back to your rooms and to
your books, I say, this moment! Up, Mohan, take your four friends with you.”
“No,
Sir,” boldly answered Mohan, “not until you admit back
into college Rahim and John and the four other boys
who haven’t signed the pledge.”
“What
about the pledge you have given?” asked the Principal.
“I’ll
break it, Sir, for the sake of my friends,” replied Ram Mohan coolly, looking
up at the Principal.
“Enough
of this nonsense,” exclaimed Principal Robertson peevishly, “what made you,
sirs, resort to this extreme step? It’s like playing with fire,
I tell you–nothing less! Look here, my boys,” he continued in a cajoling tone, realising that persuasion is the best method of infusing
discipline, “you don’t know how serious the matter is. We discussed it at the
College Council for four hours last evening. And the result?
We had to refuse your request in the interests of discipline in the college.
The only other alternative is to close down the college. Tell me, what would
you do in such a situation?”
“Close
down the college, sure!” retorted a boy from a corner, “And a long holiday for
us all! Hurrah!”
“A
holiday, indeed, that would be.” rejoined the Principal, “from good sense and
right action! But can six hundred boys sacrifice their studies for the sake of
six foolish ones?”
“You
seem to be sure, Sir,” interjected Rahim, “that your
refusal to admit them back into college will cost only six boys their
education?”
“Clear,
isn’t it?” observed the Principal smiling.
“You
think, so, perhaps, Sir,” answered John.
“No,
it is the opinion of the College Council.” Saying so, Principal Robertson sat
down on the floor, among the boys. He then removed his hat and taking his
kerchief, wiped the beads of perspiration on his brow and temples.
“Boys,”
he pleaded, “don’t persist in your ill-advised course. Your six friends
shouldn’t suffer–isn’t it? I promise you I shall take them back into the
college next year. Don’t drive me to take the step of getting them removed from
the precincts of the college!”
“The
moment these six friends of ours are removed, Sir,” answered Ram Mohan, “we’ll
follow them–all the six hundred of us, never to enter the college again!”
“You
to say that, Ram Mohan,” burst out the Principal, “you seem to be the
arch-villain of the whole affair!”
“Listen
to us, Sir,” continued Mohan unperturbed, “for the last time. You taunted me
with having signed the pledge and attempting to break it
now. You can’t expect us to keep a pledge, so unfair on the face of it, if its
breaking should bring us good! Remember, Sir, those who haven’t signed the
pledge are all conscientious objectors–still
you said you won’t take them back into college. Well, then, I and my four
friends whom you see spinning here will fast unto death–that’s
our decision.”
A
silence as of the grave fell on them all for a while. Principal Robertson was
is a quandary. There was worry writ large on his face, and his legs faltered as
he got up to go.
The
morning’s incident had been preceded by a meeting of the students the previous
night. The struggle for
About
twenty student representatives had gathered in Ram Mohan’s room the previous
night intent on discussing the matter. They were the best in the college and
looked upon Ram Mohan as their leader. Rahim and
John, two of the conscientious objectors, were there present.
“Friends,”
said Ram Mohan opening the discussion, “we must decide something here and
now–there’s no time to be lost! Shall we let these six friends of ours be made
scapegoats to ensure our good behaviour?
Or…” he stopped for a moment and continued, ‘shall we leave this college along
with them?”
One
of the boys declared they couldn’t possibly let Rahim
and John and their four other friends suffer while they
themselves became busy again with their books, keen on getting their degrees.
But, he asked, what about the pledge they had given to the Principal?
“Pledge?”
retorted Ram Mohan sharply, “The less said about it the better! A trap, rather,
I’ll call it–though we all got into it willingly! Rahim,
what have you to say?”
Rahim said the matter was simple. Once he gave
this undertaking, he was at the mercy of the college authorities. He had a
right to continue in college until he took his degree, unless he chucked his
books and marched off to jail! Did the Principal tell them last July he
wouldn’t admit them this term unless they signed the pledge? How can we remain
quiet and unmoved, he asked, when some students in other colleges were
rusticated for protesting against the detention of our leaders, some fined for
absenting themselves from classes, while some were even whipped for offering satyagraha? The
Principal can’t tell us coolly, he wound up, “Look here, boys, you must stick
to your books and nothing else, no matter what is happening around you!”
“What
if you have signed the pledge?” questioned John, ‘You can undo its mischief if
you will support us as a matter of conscience!”
Ram
Mohan assured them they would all stand by them till the end, come what may.
“The college authorities,” he summed up, “want to bind us to our word and break
us on the altar of discipline. They seem to forget we owe our duty to our own
country first–all other considerations come next. Perhaps the Principal expects
us to honour our pledge at the expense of our
patriotism. It was an unholy undertaking the college authorities had taken from
them and there’s only one way of protest against it–by not honouring
it!”
It was the third day of the hunger-strike. The students had made out a list of those who had consented to join the hunger-strikers, five each morning, till their demands were granted. According to their programme five more had gone on an interminable fast on the second day. The boys had fasted for more than forty-eight hours, sustained by an indomitable spirit. Not a single student had attended college to show their sympathy with them. Principal Robertson had tried to exert his moral influence with the members of the College Council but had found prestige a potent stumbling-block in the way of persuasion. He summoned the College Council for the last time that evening.
“Gentlemen,” he addressed them, “the situation is grave, very grave. Two days ago I telegraphed to the parents of these intransigent boys. A number of them have arrived today but even they haven’t been able to persuade the boys to give up their fast. Will you let these youths die before your very eyes?” He paused for a moment, and peering intently into their faces, continued, “Or hand them over to the police just to get rid of them? I must tell you, sirs, that would be absolutely against the traditions of this College. Remember, gentlemen, the principles that have guided the working of this institution for over half a century. What’s wrong, I ask you in all seriousness, in admitting those six boys who, as a matter of conscience, will not sign the pledge?”
One
of the professors, known to be a Martinet, opined that to do so would mean the
end of all discipline in the college. Another suggested closing down the
college for the time being rather than admit defeat at the hands of six
obstinate boys. A third declared that students who dabble in
politics should be prepared to pay the penalty for it!
Principal
Robertson then wound up the discussion. He wanted to save the college, he said,
he wanted to maintain the spirit of its founder. But, he asked, was the
undertaking, taken from the boys fair to them? He had told the College
Council at that time that it was not so, but he had been outvoted. “For my part
I have made up my mind,” he continued, “to readmit these six conscientious
objectors although they haven’t signed the pledge. If my view doesn’t commend
itself to you, gentlemen, I resign my principalship here
and now!”
The
College Council was not prepared for this bomb-shell. They had hoped to bring
round the Principal to their view. The Principal left the room, wishing not to
embarrass the members in their discussion. About fifteen minutes later he was sent
for by them.
“Your
decision, gentlemen?” he asked as soon as he sat down.
“To continue you as Principal of the College.”
“What!”
questioned Principal Robertson astonished, “After the expression of your views
just a few minutes ago?”
“That’s
our unanimous decision.”
“So
you will let me admit those six boys without taking a pledge them?” continued
the Principal still incredulous, “Congratulations,
gentlemen, on your wisdom! My being Principal or not matters
little, indeed. But I am glad that the noble spirit of the hunger-strikers has
moved you to act aright. They have been starving for more than sixty hours now!
I’ll go and see that the boys break their fast.”
Principal
Robertson almost ran from the meeting to the boys to announce to them the
decision of the College Council. He was the happiest in the college that
evening. The boys were jubilant. They had fought for a principle and won. Ram
Mohan and his fellow hunger-strikers had become the heroes of the day.
Principal
Robertson was in his room next morning at about 10 A. M., looking into some
papers. He heard a footstep outside the verandah.
“Who’s
that?” he asked.
“May
I come in, Sir?” answered a voice.
“Yes.
Come in.”
“Good
morning, Ram Mohan,” said the Principal greeting him with a smile, and offering
him a chair. “How are you feeling, my boy?”
“A bit weak, still, Sir, that’s all.”
“Well,
what can I do for you, Ram Mohan? No more hungerstrikes,
I suppose!” he burst into a laugh and continued, “I couldn’t imagine your joining
them! And after signing that pledge!”
“One
never knows, Sir,” replied Mohan smiling, “what one may have to do for the sake
of friends on a matter of principle.”
“You
are a brick, Ram Mohan–aye, the pride of the college! Your taking up the cause
of the six conscientious objectors indeed surprised me. And you boys resolving
to fast unto death made me yield.
A
bigger surprise awaits you, Sir.”
“Tell
me, what’s it?”
“I
am leaving college.”
“What!”
ejaculated Principal Robertson, “You aren’t so foolish!”
“I
have made up my mind, Sir.”
“Tush, Mohan. You are in your final year and a brilliant
career awaits you. Don’t mar your future with your own hands!”
“I
should leave the college at the present moment–that’s the right thing for me to
do, Sir–that’s what I feel honestly about it. My future will take care of
itself!”
“I
haven’t punished you in any way or any of the other hunger-strikers.
Why should you leave college now. Mohan?” persisted the Principal in a
tone of regret.
“I
undertook the fast unto death for the sake of my friends, Sir,” answered Ram
Mohan, “The college authorities yielded to our just demand, thank God! But
there is now a feeling at the back of my mind that I can’t both break
the pledge I had given you and also continue my studies. I broke the pledge to
vindicate a principle. I leave college now to atone for its violation!”
“You
are a hero, my boy!” exclaimed Principal Robertson rising from his chair and
warmly clasping Ram Mohan by the hand. “No one will be more sorry than I am at
your going away. You are welcome to our college if you return next July.
Good-bye, Ram Mohan. God bless you!”