China Hand. John Paton Davies, Jr.

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      “And so with the Burma front collapsed and the enemy of the Indian people on the threshold, Congress adjourns,” I wrote, “incapable (for many, many reasons) of adopting toward a threatening dynamic imperialism any more effective program than that employed against a decadent imperialism—non-violent non-cooperation.”

      In the dreadful heat of the Allahabad mid-day, Ed and I decided that the only course to follow was non-violent non-cooperation with the climate. So we took sweat-drenched naps.

      About 4:40 we called on Rajaji, a frail little man with slender hands, the palms of which were dyed lavender. The trouble with Congress is that it has been fighting the British so long that its grievances have become an obsession, observed Rajaji in a cool analytical tone. Congress has the DeValeran mentality; like the Irish it can only object and obstruct. We are presented with the greatest revolutionary opportunity which we have had in many, many years, and we are unable to do anything about it. The purpose of my resolution was to break the stagnant situation in which we find ourselves with an appeal to action. But Congress, again like the Irish, will not accept any considerable compromise (whether with the Muslims or the British) because it talks only in terms of the perfect and complete solution: a united and free India.

      Ed asked him if he thought anything could be done, despite Congress’s position on non-violent non-cooperation, in Madras to organize the Madrasis to resist any Japanese attack. Rajaji said no. Congress was too strong and he further implied that he would not wish to work outside the Congress framework.

      Rajaji declared that the League could not be ignored as Congress sought to imply. While the more enlightened Muslims were allied with Congress, it could not be denied that the League did represent the great mass of the Indian Muslims.

      Chiang Kai-shek, he said, had written a letter to Nehru recently in which he complained about the British conduct of the war in Burma, pointing out their many faults. “What good does that do?” Rajaji asked. To my mind this statement, which surprised me, was one of the clearest indications (if sincerely expressed) of a constructive attitude.

      The overall attitude of Rajaji was clearly pessimistic. I had the impression that he felt the situation to be beyond repair.

      Ed and I rode by tonga [two-wheeled horse cart] to Nehru’s elegant residence. Mrs. Naidu, her daughter, several disciples and a young Chinese broadcaster from Singapore were there. Nehru was as aristocratic and spiritual looking as depicted. We sat around eating mango ice cream and listened mostly to Nehru, Mrs. Naidu, and Ed. The stone floors were cool, bowls of flowers were arranged in exquisite taste, everyone looked clean and fresh (save Ed and me). A copy of Life was on one of the low tables.

      Nehru said that Cripps had done more harm to the British position in India than any one person in a long time. Cripps was a terrible statesman, he hadn’t realized how bad a statesman Cripps was, Cripps had no tact and lost his temper. (Mrs. Naidu agreed emphatically.) The failure of the negotiations was not Cripps’s fault. He was bound hand and foot by Churchill and [Leopold] Amery [Secretary of State for India]. In reply to a question from Ed, Nehru declared that he had no knowledge in advance of Cripps’s arrival of what terms were brought. He had been warned ahead of time that the proposals were “very bad.” That was all. Congress had opened negotiations, of course, with the idea of working itself into full power—that was the reason for the initial compromises. But when Cripps fell back to insisting that the Viceroy’s powers could not be curtailed, the negotiations collapsed (the Indian nationalists felt that they weren’t offered enough to be even a poor Trojan horse). The Churchill-Amery-Linlithgow [Viceroy] combination is the worst India has faced. He quoted with evident satisfaction Amery’s defense of the Japanese action in Manchuria in 1931: “You can’t blame the Japanese, why they’re just doing what we’d do in India.”

      Corruption in the Government of India is extraordinarily widespread, Nehru maintained. Especially in connection with defense industries.

      Nehru and Mrs. Naidu dominated the scene. The other Indians were very quiet and attentive. Ed later told with amusement of Missimo’s [Mme. Chiang Kai-shek, who had recently visited India] venture into a sari. La Naidu said, “You know how distinguished and refined looking Mme. C. is in her native Chinese costume. She put on the sari which we gave her and, my dear, she looked so common—those Mongolian features, like a hill girl from Nepal, you know.”

      Nehru and one of his lieutenants graciously escorted us out to our tonga.

      We had no opportunity to say good-bye to the maitre d’hotel of the station restaurant—a rare soul who maintained that life for the white man began to go downhill with the arrival of Lady Curzon, a wealthy American, née Leiter [wife of Lord Curzon, Viceroy at the turn of the century.] Before that the small man had been able to have his three polo ponies, his whiskies and live the life of a God-fearing respectable Englishman. But she spoiled India by bringing in great numbers of her wealthy American friends to show them her Empire and permit them to overpay the natives.

      * * *

      On May 3 I wrote that “the Indian I most wanted to meet was, of course, Gandhi, the Mahatma, the great soul. But he was at his retreat near Wardha in the center of the country. The heat there, some of my Indian friends warned me, became so intense that the countryside catches fire. This further whetted my curiosity.“

       May 7

       The Bombay Mail arrived at Wardha at midnight, six hours late. The obliging station people tell me how to get to the dak bungalow [government rest house], which turned out to be full. So Abdul [a station attendant] gets for me a bench out of the ladies waiting room, I spread my roll on it and go to sleep on the station platform—fortunately no trains unloaded on it during the night.

       May 8

       At dawn I arise to the interest and delight of a small audience of Indian children who had been impatiently awaiting this event. Abdul gets me a poor breakfast from the Mohammedan food stall and in return gets another extravagant four annas tip.

      Passage was arranged for me in what, I was assured, was the most sumptuous tonga in Wardha, painted green, decorated with a painting of Gandhi and lesser prophets and drawn by a runty, indolent white stallion. The driver, with good political sense, wore a white Gandhi cap. He derived great satisfaction from and regularly made use of a particularly cavernous sounding bulb horn.

       We left about six. About one third of the way to Gandhiville, I decided to change my clothes—which I did, including underwear, without the driver being aware of the metamorphosis.

       We turned off the dusty and already hot road into a straw thatched settlement of one-storied buildings. All exceedingly simple and almost primitive. A young girl in white homespun was rolling up the bedding from five beds set out in front of one of the low thatched houses. Fifty yards away the Mahatma in white dhoti [loin cloth], tucked neatly up his crotch instead of the usual trailing around the ankles, stood with staff in hand talking at length with two small children seated on a hemp bed bare of covering. Around the great man hovered disciples, clean, intelligent, fine looking people, two of whom held black umbrellas over the saintly cranium shielding it from the early morning sun.

       I was waiting in front of the office, to which I had been brusquely directed by an occidental woman with, could it have been, a teutonic accent? Two retainers dissuaded me from entering the dark little room in which I could distinguish only a large green safe. I was directed to a bed—they seemed to be everywhere—about 10 yards in front of the office room. Preferring to stand, I watched the Great Soul move by to inspect the room behind the five beds. The train of five СКАЧАТЬ