29 April: Boreham on Mahatma Gandhi

Evolution of a Mahatma
Exactly sixty years ago this week,[1] a young Indian student, having satisfactorily completed his course at the Inner Temple, was called to the Bar. He was immediately enrolled in the High Court, and, on the very next day he embarked on the return voyage to his own country. A sprightly young fellow of 21, there was nothing in the appearance of Mohandas Gandhi in those days to indicate the part that he was to play in the shaping of world politics. In his "Life of Mahatma Gandhi," Louis Fischer presents us with a portrait of Gandhi as London then knew him. A thorough-paced young dandy, he is strutting along Piccadilly wearing a highly burnished top hat that literally glitters in the sunlight, a stiff and beautifully starched Gladstonian collar, a flashy tie that dazzlingly displays all the colours of the rainbow, a striped silk shirt, an exquisitely tailored morning coat, striped trousers, patent leather shoes and—spats!

In one hand he flourishes a silver-mounted cane, and in the other, a pair of kid gloves. And this, believe it or not, is Gandhi; a Gandhi with a past from which he has learned little; a Gandhi with a future from which the world will learn much. As to his past, the less said, the better. It was probably no better and no worse than that of the average young Hindu of the day. It was a blind, pitiful struggle towards a goodness that he faintly glimpsed. In accordance with tradition, he and his wife were married by their respective parents when they were thirteen. The life that followed, outlined by Gandhi with brutal frankness, makes up a sordid and revolting story. The wonder is that, after long separations and cruel ordeals, it eventually developed into an almost idyllic union. In their mature years, Mohandas and Kasturbai were pathetically devoted to one another.

A Hero And His Headgear
For this dark-faced young fop in Piccadilly had a future, a future that was to change the world. At the age of 24, Gandhi, now a brilliant advocate, went to South Africa to represent the Indians of that country in their legal contest with the authorities. He wore a turban. Indeed, the evolution of Gandhi can be traced by the stages of his headgear. There is the top-hat phase, the turban phase, the skull-cap phase, and the more familiar phase in which, a world-renowned figure, he goes bareheaded, wearing only a self-woven loincloth. It was the turban phase that made him. He remained in South Africa, off and on for 21 years, and, during that period, the iron entered into his soul. He became convinced that his compatriots in South Africa were being oppressed and victimised. He fought for their emancipation, not as a counsel pleads for his client, but as a fearless and passionate leader fights in a great cause.

He hazarded health, wealth, reputation and even life itself. Once at least he was picked up in the streets after a brutal attack, apparently dead. The struggle awoke the very soul of the man; and when, in 1915, he returned to India for the skull-cap phase of his career, he returned as a reformer, almost a saint. During the war, Mr. Churchill indicated his purpose in life by holding up to the crowds two outstretched fingers in the shape of the letter V. Gandhi was accustomed to raise his hand with all five digits extended.

Eloquence Of Extended Fingers
The first of the five represented the redemption of the Untouchables. "If," says Louis Fischer, "if Gandhi had done nothing else but shatter the structure of untouchability, he would have deserved a place in history as a great social reformer." His second purpose was to render India free from British domination, and independent of British patronage, and yet in friendly and inalienable alliance with Britain. It was for this reason that he wove his own clothing and bade all other Indians do the same. Why should India be dependent upon the mills of Lancashire? His third finger represented the necessity for sobriety among the people—abstinence from alcohol and opium. His fourth denoted the equality of women, and the fifth—and perhaps the most important—stood for friendship and co-operation between the Hindus and the Moslems. This is the very essence of Gandhi-ism. When the great day dawned, and the new India emerged, Gandhi rejoiced in the realisation of his dream of self-government but the idea of the division of India into two parts was like sand in his eyes or gravel in his teeth. He called it vivisection and sometimes even blasphemy. Gandhi's supreme achievement, his biographer declares, lay in creating in Britain a conviction that Britain must no longer rule India, and in creating in India a stubborn refusal to be ruled.

Gandhi's use of the weapon of fasting is interesting. When he realised that he was held in almost superstitious veneration by hundreds of millions of people, he saw the possibilities that a fast presented. The most powerful governments dreaded his death under such conditions. But, on the whole, he used this potent weapon with moderation. He never employed it for personal or party ends. His last fast was undertaken when the streets of the Indian cities were running red. He announced that nothing should cross his lips until the bloodshed ceased. The riots promptly ended, and he ate again. As a great religious figure, he is something of an enigma. A beautiful picture of Christ hung in his room and he loved such hymns as "Lead Kindly Light" and "When I Survey the Wondrous Cross"; but he revelled also in the poetry of the ancient Oriental sages. Like Lincoln, he stands as one of humanity's real heroes. The one was slain in Washington, in 1865, by the maddest pistol shot ever fired in the West; the other was slain in New Delhi, in 1948, by the most maniacal shot ever fired in the East.

[1] This editorial appears in the Hobart Mercury on June 16, 1951.

F W Boreham

Image: Mahatma Gandhi