So far as I can remember, I did not spend more than Rs. 31 (including the train fare) on this journey. In travelling third class I mostly preferred the ordinary to the mail trains, as I knew that the latter was more crowded and the fares in them higher. The third class compartments are practically as dirty, and the closet arrangements as bad, today as they were then.
There may be a little improvement now, but the difference between the facilities provided for the first and the third classes is out of all proportion to the difference between the fares for the two classes. Third class passengers are treated like sheep and their comforts are sheep’s comforts.
In Europe I travelled third and only once first, just to see what it was like but there I noticed no such difference between the first and the third classes.
In South Africa class comforts are better there than here. In parts of South Africa, third-class compartments are provided with sleeping accommodation and cushioned seats. The accommodation is also regulated, to prevent overcrowding, whereas here I have found the regulation limit usually exceeded.
The indifference of the railway authorities to the comforts of the third class passengers, combined with the dirty and inconsiderate habits of the passengers themselves, makes third class travelling a trial for a passenger of cleanly ways.
These unpleasant habits commonly include throwing of rubbish on the floor of the compartment, smoking at all hours and in all places, betel and tobacco chewing, converting of the whole carriage into a spittoon, shouting and yelling, and using foul language, regardless of the convenience or comfort of fellow passengers.
I have noticed little difference between my experience of the third class travelling in 1902 and that of my unbroken third-class tours from 1915 to 1919.
I can think of only one remedy for this awful state of things that educated men should make a point of travelling third class and reforming the habits of the people, as also of never letting the railway authorities rest in peace, sending in complaints wherever necessary, never resorting to bribes or any unlawful means for obtaining their comforts, and never putting up with infringements of rules on the part of anyone concerned.
This, I am sure, would bring about considerable improvement. My serious illness in 1918-19 has unfortunately compelled me practically to give up third-class travelling, and it has been a matter of constant pain and shame to me, especially because the disability came at a time when the agitation for the removal of the hardships of third-class passengers was making fair headway.
The hardship of poor railway and steamship passengers, accentuated by their bad habits, the undue facilities allowed by the Government to foreign trade, and such other things, make an important group of subjects, worthy to be taken up by one or two enterprising and persevering workers who could devote their full time to it. But I shall leave the third class passengers at that, and come to my experience in Benares.
I arrived there in the morning. I had decided to put up with a panda. Numerous Brahmans surrounded me, as soon as I got out of the train, and I selected one who struck me to be comparatively cleaner and better than the rest.
It proved to be a good choice. There was a cow in the courtyard of his house and an upper storey where I was given a lodging. I did not want to have any food without ablution in the Ganges in the proper orthodox manner.
The panda made preparations for it. I had told him beforehand that on no account could I give him more than a rupee and four annas as Dakshina, and that he should therefore keep this in mind while making the preparations. The panda readily assented. ‘Be the pilgrim rich or poor,’ said he, ‘the service is the same in every case. But the amount of Dakshina we receive depends upon the will and the ability of the pilgrim.’
I did not find that the panda at all abridged the usual formalities in my case. The puja was over at noon, and I went to the Kashi Vishvanath temple for darshan. I was deeply pained by what I saw there.
When practising as a barrister in Bombay in 1891. I had to attend a lecture on ‘pilgrimage to Kashi’ in the Prarthana Samaj hall. I was therefore prepared for some measure of disappointment. But the actual disappointment was greater than I had bargained for.
The approach was through a narrow and slippery lane. Quiet there was none. The swarming flies and the noise made by the shopkeepers and pilgrims were perfectly in-sufferable.
Where one expected an atmosphere of meditation and communion it was conspicuous by its absence. One had to seek that atmosphere in oneself. I did observe devout sisters, who were absorbed in meditation, entirely unconscious of the environment.
But for this, the authorities of the temple could scarcely claim any credit. The authorities should be responsible for creating and maintaining the temple a purely sweet and serene atmosphere, physical as well as moral. Instead of this, I found a Bazar where cunning shopkeepers were selling sweets and toys of the latest fashion.
When I reached the temple. I was greeted at the entrance by a stinking mass of rotten flowers. The floor was paved with fine marble, which was however broken by some devotee innocent of aesthetic taste who had set it with rupees serving as an excellent receptacle for dirt.
I went near the Jnana-Vapi (well of knowledge). I searched here for God but failed to find Him. I was not therefore in a particularly good mood. The surroundings of the Jnana-Vapi too I found to be dirty. I had no mind to give any Dakshina.
So I offered a pie. The panda in charge got angry and threw away the pie. He swore at me and said, ‘This insult will take you straight to hell.’ This did not perturb me.
‘Maharaj,’ said I, ‘whatever fate has in store for me, it does not behove one of your class to indulge in such language. You may take this pie if you like, or you will lose that too.’ ‘Go away,’ he replied, ‘I don’t care for your pie.’ And then followed a further volley of abuse.
I took up the pie and went my way, flattering myself that the Brahman had lost a pie and I had saved one.
But the Maharaj was hardly the man to let the pie go. He called me back and said, ‘All right, leave the pie here, I would rather not be as you are. If I refuse your pie, it will be bad for you.’ I silently gave him the pie and, with a sigh, went away. Since then I have twice been to Kashi Vishvanath, but that has been after I had already been afflicted with the title of Mahatma and experiences such as I have detailed above had become impossible.
People eager to have my darshan would not permit me to have a darshan of the temple. The woes of Mahatmas are known to Mahatmas alone. Otherwise, the dirt and the noise were the same as before. If anyone doubts the infinite mercy of God, let him have a look at these sacred places.
How much hypocrisy and irreligion does the Prince of Yogis suffer to be perpetrated in His holy name? He proclaimed long ago: ‘Whatever a man sows, that shall he reap.’ The law of Karma is inexorable and impossible of evasion.
There is thus hardly any need for God to interfere. He laid down the law and, as it were, retired. After this visit to the temple, I waited upon Mrs Besant. I knew that she had just recovered from an illness. I sent in my name. She came at once. As I wished only to pay my respects to her, I said, ‘I am aware that you are in delicate health. I only wanted to pay my respects. I am thankful that you have been good enough to receive me despite your indifferent health. I will not detain you any longer.’ So saying, I took leave of her.