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In September 1931, Mr Gandhi had arrived in England for the Round Table Conference, and I had obtained an interview with him in order to give him an opportunity of explaining himself to one who was honestly trying to understand him. He slept at the East End London Settlement in the slums — a fact widely advertised in the press — but his days were spent between St James’s Palace and a charming little flat in Park Place, St James’s. It was at the flat that I saw him.
Mr Gandhi was dressed in his usual loin cloth with a Kashmir shawl thrown over his shoulders. He sat cross-legged on the hearth before a collapsible, Western-made spinning wheel. On a table beside him were fruits of various kinds, and in a bowl of water reposed a set of false teeth.
Mr Gandhi kindly stood to receive us, remarking as he did so that it was not his custom to stand for visitors.
He went on spinning as we talked, breaking and mending his thread. It is almost a trick with him now, this spinning, like the trick of the public speaker who twists a watch chain or knots and unties a bit of string.
I began by reminding him that he was ‘my learned friend’ (he was educated for the bar, as I was), and suggested that during the interview we should treat one another as fellow professionals, speaking our minds without fear of offence being given or taken.
He consented, but remarked, ‘You know they have disbarred me. I am not “your learned friend” any longer’.
I said that we would nevertheless pretend that he was, and added, ‘I have been studying you since 1916, as if you were a brief’.
His face lit up and he said, ‘Have you? What is your conclusion?’
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‘It is because I cannot come to a conclusion upon certain aspects of you that I am here tonight. I want to give you an opportunity of explaining yourself if you will be so kind. I have studied you as Mahatma, Politician, Economist — three of the roles in which you have presented yourself to the world. The Mahatma need not detain us. As you are aware, I know a good deal about Orthodox Hindus, and have met the genuine Hindu Holy Man. You are not that, are you? You are not a Saint, Mr Gandhi. You and I are lawyers.’
He laughed, and a woman disciple sitting by uttered an exclamation of horror.
‘Mr Gandhi understands me,’ I said. ‘For one thing, no Hindu Mahatma, or Holy One, would use a spiritual appeal to attain a temporal end. That is what Mr Gandhi has done. I understand that. Let us turn to other things — to Gandhi as a Politician.’
I asked: ‘What did you mean, Mr Gandhi, when you said that you wished and demanded “a partnership” with England, and in the same breath that you wished and demanded “complete independence”? What did you mean by “complete independence”?’
‘I meant control of the army, of finance, of foreign relations — of everything.’
‘When you said this, were you speaking as a lawyer or as a politician?’
‘As neither,’ he said. ‘I was speaking as the man-in-the-street.’
‘But even the man-in-the-street knows that partnership and complete independence of your partner in the business of the partnership are incompatible.’
‘When I use those words,’ he replied, I know what I mean.’
‘Then please, Mr Gandhi, tell me what you mean. I want to understand.’
‘Well,’ he said, ‘suppose the English and Americans were partners. They would still be entirely independent, the one of the other.’
‘But they are not partners. Do you mean allies, or members of the League of Nations?’
‘No, I do not mean allies. I use those words in a sense that I myself understand. I know what I mean.’
I said: ‘Yes, Mr Gandhi, that is just what you seem to do. You use words which have an accepted meaning, but you appear to use them in a sense all your own, with reservations which you do not disclose. Isn’t this a kind of intellectual dishonesty — yes, and moral dishonesty as well?’
He shrugged without replying, so I went on to inquire how many disciples he had. ‘You are always saying that you speak for “the dumb millions of India”. Of course you and I know that this cannot be so. You speak for a certain number of English-educated Indians who are most extraordinarily vocal themselves. What is your real following, Mr Gandhi?’
‘Three hundred and fifty millions.’
‘Ah, do be serious. I want to know the number of your disciples, not the population of India.’
He repeated, ‘Three hundred and fifty millions’.
‘Deduct at least one individual from that total,’ I said, indicating myself. ‘Come, now, what is your following?’
‘Three hundred and fifty millions, whether you like it or not.’
It seemed hopeless to pin him down.
I tried again. ‘How many people were imprisoned when you came to Delhi last year to negotiate with Lord Irwin?’
‘The entire Congress.’
‘Yes; I remember you said so at the time. How many people would you say were then in prison?’
‘Lakhs and lakhs.’ (Hundreds of thousands.)
‘And why were they in prison? Didn’t you invite them to qualify for prison by breaking the law? They obeyed you, and committed acts of violence punishable under the Indian Penal Code — murder, assault, the wrecking of trains, arson, the burning of imported or mill-made cloth, which ruined the poor, smaller Indian merchants. How was it that the apostle of passive resistance had disciples who committed violence?’
‘I deny that cloth was burned.’
‘But it was, Mr Gandhi. Your disciple here,’ said I, indicating a wealthy cotton merchant and mill owner who sat beside me — a mill owner who is commonly believed to have been excused from Gandhi’s ban because, like the mill owners of Ahmedabad, near Gandhi’s home, he is said to subsidize the Congress — ‘your disciple here knows that this is true’.
‘Yes, Mahatmaji,’ he said, ‘cloth was burned in Bombay.’
‘Well, I never commanded violence. I repudiate all who committed violence.’
‘You can’t repudiate your followers and agents. “What you do through another you do yourself.”
‘I meant for them to fall at the feet of persons using or selling foreign cloth or mill-made cloth, and say, “Please do not do this”. That is not countenancing violence.’
‘But surely you knew that that was not the way they would do it. And those who committed violence said that you paid them to do it. They complained that if the boycott could not be renewed they would starve, since they would lose both their wages from you and their gains from looting. You held a meeting to decide how many of these people you could continue to pay.’
‘Yes, I paid them. But I repudiate those who committed acts of violence. They were hooligans.’
‘Exactly. Many people have thought all along that your following was swelled by the hooligans who live on the edge of social unrest in all countries, but I didn’t expect you to say the same thing. However, deduct the hooligans from the “lakhs and lakhs” — how many are left whom you would regard as your followers?’
‘Thirty thousand.’
‘Thank you, Mr Gandhi. When I am asked in America, “What is the number of Mr Gandhi’s real discipleship?” I shall say, “Thirty thousand; he told me so himself”.’
