Chapter 6 - Oh, Calcutta!
Where we drag the Indian National Congress some.
1906, Calcutta, Bengal Presidency
Tatyarao pulled his shawl closer to keep out the Calcutta evening cold.
“It is so cold, yet somehow humid!” He complained.
“Good practice for London then,” Babarao chuckled, “At least the sun is here. Enjoy what you can before you have to ship out to London in four months.”
“To say nothing of the British architecture,” Tatya said, “Something about the British style of architecture makes you feel small and insignificant. Unsettling, somehow. Like they are waging war on my mind, too.”
Babarao barely nodded, his attention taken by the busy Calcutta streets, now made busier by the horde of people who had descended on the city from all over, to attend the Congress session.
The Indian National Congress was the only representative of the Indian cause to the British government. It had been started by an Englishman, and initially staffed with servile toadies educated under the Macaulayan dispensation, who had beseeched the British with prayers and requests, much like feeding a poisonous snake with milk. But lately, it had acquired a life of its own, as more people with more education than servility had joined it. Bal Gangadhar Tilak of Pune had emerged as a powerful voice, calling for Home Rule. With unrest in Punjab after the British had tried to restrict the sale of agricultural land between only members of designated “agricultural tribes, “ Lala Lajpat Rai emerged as another strong voice of dissent. With the attempt at the partition of Bengal, they were joined by Bipin Chandra Pal, who had emerged as a dominant player.
While the older members like Gopalkrishna Gokhale and Pherozeshah Mehta were shocked and disgusted, by the strong opposition this trio exhibited to every move of the British, they enjoyed a strong following among the younger members. This triggered fear, uncertainty, and doubt in the Congress establishment, and the powers that be tipped the scale often to ensure the trio stayed down. The session was originally supposed to be in Nagpur, but the Congress leadership did not want Tilak to have his home-turf advantage.
The brothers had come to Calcutta for two reasons. First, they were among a large contingent from Bombay to support Tilak. They expected to just make up the crowd and raise cheers at his speeches, but over the past two days, they had been forced to make their strength felt.
Tilak, capitalizing on Lajpat Rai’s hero’s welcome on his release from Mandalay, had wanted him to be a candidate for Congress President. But Gokhale had played spoilsport. Tilak had been seated far away from the podium on purpose, and within seconds, they had proposed their own candidate for President and agreed on him. His supporters had to raise their voices and make a flutter so everyone else would know something had gone wrong. As Tilak made his way to the podium, a group of young followers of Gokhale had attempted to rough him up. It had fallen upon Tilak’s contingent to protect him and escort him to the podium. Nevertheless, he had not been heard. A melee broke out when the Establishment candidate came up to make his Presidential speech.
Someone had thrown an egg at the stage. Tatyarao was impressed at this incredibly prepared member of his contingent. Then a shoe had flown. Thwack! It hit old, old Surendranath Banerjea. He was left shaken. Thwack! Another slipper hit Pherozeshah Mehta, right in his mutton-chopped sideburns. He was not pleased either. Things went out of hand. The opposite side began throwing chairs. The contingent had escorted Tilak out, fighting the whole way back to their dharamshalas with sticks and fists.
While the supporters of the old guard like Gokhale and Mehta had been housed in luxurious tents close to the venue, Tilak and his contingent had to make do in dharamshalas near the bazaar. The powers that be had intended it to be a snub, but the young men had enjoyed their time in Lalbazaar, bonding with young men from all over India.
The brothers had particularly been taken by a young Congress member from Madras, Chidambaram Pillai. He was barely a few years older than them and was a rising star in the Madras Presidency. He spoke with such fervor about Swadeshi manufacturing and services, that they were impressed. He held forth about his shipping company, and how he was getting battered by the British, who had slashed their rates just to destroy him. Heck, they had even thrown in a free umbrella with each ticket. The prevalent Swadeshi sentiment kept him hanging in there, but for how long, he asked. Why were the leaders not agitating in this regard?
Tatyarao had sympathized with him. If only there was another organization that would do something about this, he had said. Yes, Chidambaram Pillai had agreed. Why don’t we create such an organization, Babarao suggested? Chidambaram Pillai had been excited. They had asked him to meet them later at a friend’s house on Scott Lane.
Now the brothers headed there, taking in the sights of the market area. Not only did they enjoy jhalmuri and shop for Bengali wares, but they had been thrilled walking through Chinatown. There was plenty to gawk at in all of Calcutta, but Chinatown was the first time they felt like they were in a different country.
Long red banners hung down, lining the street. Exotic fish swam in tanks by the shop windows, some for food, some for good luck. Bright paper lanterns lit up the street, alongside beautifully lettered store names. Hawkers in Tang shirts were calling out their wares in a curious mix of Hakka and Bengali. Popular Bengali folk songs sounded exotic when a seller of a Chinese coconut fiddle played them on one. Tatyarao stopped to buy one and tried playing it while walking down to Scott Lane. He gave up soon, realizing that the amount of practice he needed to make any meaningful note was beyond that cheap street fiddle’s lifespan.
Past the noisy market, they turned into a quiet side street and knocked on an unremarkable door.
A stony-faced man opened the door and stared stonily at them.
“We are here to rid our Tamas, by waking the Brahma within,” they said.
The man opened the door and let them in.
This was the second reason they were in Calcutta - A secret society.
Maybe even two.
I’m sorry about the title of this chapter. It’s not the best reference.
Also, I’ve taken some creative liberties with the incidents mentioned here. First off, the 1906 session of the Congress did take place in Calcutta, but it wasn’t as fun as the 1907 Surat sesh which had active violence when Congress establishment blocked the proposal of Lajpat Rai’s candidacy for president with guile and trickery. Vinayak Savarkar didn’t attend either session. But… I wanted to write about Calcutta’s Chinatown from the perspective of someone who didn’t live there. I also mashed together a whole bunch of events together to paint a picture of India in 1906. Hope you enjoyed reading it! Please share with your friends and family.