ON THE WAY TO PRETORIA – Gandhi ~ Amen 📜

Gandhi ~ Amen

I soon came in contact with the Christian Indians living in Durban.

The Court Interpreter, Mr Paul, was a Roman Catholic. I made his acquaintance, as also that of the late Mr Subhan Godfrey, then a teacher under the Protestant Mission, and father of James Godfery who as a member of the South African Deputation, visited India in 1924.

I likewise met the late Parsi Rustomji and the late Adamji Miyakhan at about the same time. All these friends, who up to then had never met one another except on business, came ultimately into close contact, as we shall see later.

Whilst I was thus widening the circle of my acquaintance, the firm received a letter from their lawyer saying that preparations should be made for the case and that Abdulla Sheth should go to Pretoria himself or send a representative.

Abdulla Sheth gave me this letter to read and asked me if I would go to Pretoria. ‘I can only say after I have understood the case from you,’ said I. ‘At present, I am at a loss to know what I have to do there.’ He thereupon asked his clerks to explain the case to me.

As I began to study the case, I felt as though I ought to begin from the A B C of the subject. During the few days I had had at Zanzibar, I had been to the court to see the work there.

A Parsi lawyer was examining a witness and asking him a question regarding credit and debit entries in account books.

It was all Greek to me. Book-keeping I had learnt neither at school nor during my stay in England. And the case for which I had come to South Africa was mainly about accounts.

The only one who knew accounts could understand and explain it. The clerk went on talking about this debited and that credited, and I felt more and more confused. I did not know what a P. Note meant.

I failed to find the word in the dictionary. I revealed my ignorance to the clerk, and I learnt from him that a P. Note meant a promissory note.

I purchased a book on bookkeeping and studied it. That gave me some confidence. I understood the case. I saw that Abdulla Sheth, who did not know how to keep accounts, had so much practical knowledge that he could quickly solve intricacies of bookkeeping.

I told him that I was prepared to go to Pretoria. ‘Where will you put up?’ asked the Sheth. ‘Wherever you want me to,’ said I. ‘Then I shall write to our lawyer. He will arrange for your lodgings. I shall also write to my Meman friends there, but I would not advise you to stay with them.

The other party has a great influence in Pretoria. Should any one of them manage to read our private correspondence, it might do us much harm. The more you avoid familiarity with them, the better for us.’

‘I shall stay where your lawyer puts me up, or I shall find out independent lodgings. Pray, don’t worry. Not a soul shall know anything confidential between us.

But I do intend to cultivate the acquaintance of the other party. I should like to be friends with them.

I would try, if possible, to settle the case out of court. After all, Tyeb Sheth is a relative of yours.’ Sheth Tyeb Haji Khan Muhammad was a near relative of Abdulla Sheth.

The mention of a probable settlement somewhat startled the Sheth, I could see.

But I had already been six or seven days in Durban, and we now knew and understood each other. I was no longer a ‘white elephant.’ So he said: ‘Y…es, I see.

There would be nothing better than a settlement out of court. But we are all relatives and know one another very well indeed.

Tyeb Sheth is not a man to consent to a settlement easily. With the slightest unwariness on our part, he would screw all sorts of things out of us, and do us down in the end.

So please think twice before you do nothing.’ ‘Don’t be anxious about that,’ said I. ‘I need not talk to Tyeb Sheth, or for that matter to anyone else, about the case.

I would only suggest to him to come to an understanding, and so save a lot of unnecessary litigation.’

On the seventh or eighth day after my arrival, I left Durban.

A first-class seat was booked for me. It was usual there to pay five shillings extra if one needed bedding.

Abdulla Sheth insisted that I should book one bedding but, out of obstinacy and pride and save five shillings, I declined.

Abdulla Sheth warned me. ‘Look, now,’ said he, ‘this is a different country from India. Thank God, we have enough and to spare. Please do not stint yourself in anything that you may need.

‘ I thanked him and asked him not to be anxious. The train reached Maritzburg, the capital of Natal, at about 9 p.m.

Beddings used to be provided at this station. A railway servant came and asked me if I wanted one. ‘No,’ said I, ‘I have one with me.’ He went away.

But a passenger came next, and looked me up and down. He saw that I was a ‘coloured’ man. This disturbed him. Out he went and came in again with one or two officials.

They all kept quiet when another official came to me and said, ‘Come along, you must go to the van compartment.’ ‘But I have a first-class ticket,’ said I. ‘That doesn’t matter,’ rejoined the other. ‘I tell you, you must go to the van compartment.’

‘I tell you, I was permitted to travel in this compartment at Durban, and I insist on going on in it.’ ‘No, you won’t,’ said the official. ‘You must leave this compartment, or else I shall have to call a police constable to push you out.’

‘Yes, you may. I refuse to get out voluntarily.’ The constable came. He took me by the hand and pushed me out.

My luggage was also taken out. I refused to go to the other compartment and the train steamed away. I went and sat in the waiting room, keeping my handbag with me, and leaving the other luggage where it was. The railway authorities had taken charge of it.

It was winter, and winter in the higher regions of South Africa is severely cold.

Maritzburg being at a high altitude, the cold was extremely bitter. My overcoat was in my luggage, but I did not dare to ask for it lest I should be insulted again, so I sat and shivered.

There was no light in the room. A passenger came in at about midnight and possibly wanted to talk to me. But I was in no mood to talk. I began to think of my duty. Should I fight for my rights or go back to India, or should I go on to Pretoria without minding the insults, and return to India after finishing the case?

It would be cowardice to run back to India without fulfilling my obligation. The hardship to which I was subjected was superficial only a symptom of the deep disease of colour prejudice.

I should try, if possible, to root out the disease and suffer hardships in the process.

Redress for wrongs I should seek only to the extent that would be necessary for the removal of the colour prejudice. So I decided to take the next available train to Pretoria.

The following morning I sent a long telegram to the General manager of the Railway and also informed Abdulla Sheth, who immediately met the General Manager. The Manager justified the conduct of the railway authorities but informed him that he had already instructed the Station Master to see that I reached my destination safely.

Abdulla Sheth wired to the Indian merchants in Maritzburg and to friends in other places to meet me and look after me

The merchants came to see me at the station and tried to comfort me by narrating their hardships and explaining that what had happened to me was nothing unusual.

They also said that Indians travelling first or second class had to expect trouble from railway officials and white passengers.

The day was thus spent in listening to these tales of woe. The evening train arrived. There was a reserved berth for me.

I now purchased at Maritzburg the bedding ticket I had refused to book at Durban.

The train took me to Charlestown.



Life is like a bunch of roses. Some sparkle like raindrops. Some fade when there's no sun. Some just fade away in time. Some dance in many colors. Some drop with hanging wings. Some make you fall in love. The beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Life you can be sure of, you will not get out ALIVE.(sorry about that)