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Gandhi had for a long time been expecting to be arrested. Ever since November 10, 1920, all his affairs had been in order and he himself prepared. He had dictated his instructions to the people in his article, “If I Am Arrested.” He referred to this possibility again in an article dated March 9, 1922, when the rumor of his arrest again cropped up. He says he does not fear the Government. “Rivers of blood shed by the Government cannot frighten me.” The only thing he fears is that the people may be carried away at the news of his arrest. This would be a disgrace to him. “I desire that the people should maintain perfect self-control and consider the day of my arrest a day of rejoicing. The Government believes that I am the soul of all this agitation and that if I am removed it will be left in peace. The only thing that remains is for it to measure the strength of the people. Let the people preserve perfect peace and calmness. It is a matter of no pride or pleasure to me, but of humiliation, that the Government refrain from arresting me for fear of an outbreak of universal violence.” Let the people carry out the whole constructive program. Let there be no hartals or demonstrations, no cooperation with the Government. Let courts and schools be boycotted. Let, in short, the program of non-coöperation be pursued in absolute order and discipline. If the people can live up to this program, they will win. Otherwise they will face disaster.
When everything was in readiness, Gandhi went to his cherished retreat at the Ashram of Sarbarmati, near Ahmedabad, to await, in quiet meditation and surrounded by his beloved disciples, the coming of the constables. He longed for imprisonment. In his absence India would affirm her purpose with greater strength. And, as he says, imprisonment would give him “a quiet and physical rest,” which he perhaps deserved.117
The constables arrived on the night of March 10. News had reached the Ashram of their coming. The Mahatma was ready, and placed himself at their disposal. On the way to prison he met Maulana Hasrat Mohani, a Mohammedan friend who had come from far to give him a last embrace. Banker, the editor of “Young India,” was sent to jail along with the master. Gandhi’s wife was allowed to accompany her husband as far as the prison gates.
At noon of Saturday, March 18, Gandhi’s “Great Trial”118 began before Mr. C. N. Broomsfield, district and session judge of Ahmedabad. It was a manifestation of rare nobility and high-mindedness. Judge and accused vied with each other in chivalrous courtesy. Never in the struggle did England rise to more magnanimous impartiality. Judge Broomsfield that day made up for many faults of the Government. Since much has been written about the trial, I will only summarize the main points.
Why had the Government at last arrested Gandhi? Why, after contemplating this move for more than two years, did it choose the very moment when the Mahatma had quelled the mob movement and when he seemed to stand as the only barrier against violence? Was it acting in aberration? Or did it wish to lend confirmation to Gandhi’s terrible words: “It seems almost as if the Government wants to see this land covered with murder, arson, and rapine in order to be able to claim exclusive ability to put them down”? The Government was in a very difficult position. It respected and feared Gandhi. It would have liked to treat him gently. But Gandhi did not treat the Government gently. The Mahatma condemned violence, but his non-violence was more revolutionary than any violence. The very same day that he stopped civil disobedience for the mass, or rather the day before the session of the congress at Delhi, on February 23, he wrote one of the most menacing articles to Great Britain’s power. An insolent telegram from Lord Birkenhead and Mr. Montagu had struck India as a blow.119
In a burst of indignation Gandhi took up the challenge:
How can there be any compromise whilst the British lion continues to shake his gory claws in our faces? The British Empire, which is based upon organized exploitation of physically weaker races and upon a continuous exhibition of brute force, cannot live if there is a just God ruling the universe.... It is high time that the British people were made to realize that the fight that was commenced in 1920 is a fight to the finish, whether it lasts one month or one year or many months or many years. I shall only hope and pray that God will give India sufficient humility and sufficient strength to remain non-violent to the end. Submission to the insolent challenges that are cabled is now an utter impossibility.
Gandhi was indicted on the statements contained in this article and in two other articles, the one dated September 19, 1921, and the other December 15, 1921. The first referred to the arrest of the Ali brothers, and the second was a reply to a speech of Lord Reading. Both of them contain the same declaration of “fight to the finish. We want Swaraj, we want the Government to yield to popular will. We ask for no quarter and expect none.” The accusation, therefore, charged that Gandhi had “preached disaffection toward the Government and had openly instigated others to overthrow it.” Gandhi spoke in his own defense. He pleaded guilty to all charges.
The advocate-general, Sir J. T. Strangman of Bombay, claimed that the three articles cited by the accusation were not isolated, but were part of a general campaign pursued for two years in view of overthrowing the Government, and he quoted passages from Gandhi’s articles. He paid tribute to Gandhi’s high character. But this only served to lend authority to the articles and to increase their harmful influence. He held Gandhi responsible for the bloodshed at Bombay and at Chauri-Chaura. It was true that Gandhi preached non-violence, but he also preached disaffection. He was therefore responsible for the violence committed by the people.
Gandhi asked permission to speak. The torment as to what was right and wrong, the anguish, the doubts, the mental and spiritual struggle of the last weeks as to which course he should pursue and the effect it would have on the people, had been cleared away. He had recovered the serenity of his soul. He accepted everything that had taken place and everything that was to take place as a necessity which he might regret, but which he would have to bear. He agreed with the advocate-general. Yes, he was responsible. He was responsible for everything. He had preached disaffection for a much longer time than the accusation had stated. He assumed responsibility for the troubles at Madras, for the “diabolical crimes” of Chauri-Chaura, and the “mad outrages” of Bombay.
The learned advocate-general is quite right when he says that as a man of responsibility, a man having received a fair share of education, having had a fair share of experience of this world, I should have known the consequences of every one of my acts. I knew that I was playing with fire, I ran the risk, and if I was set free, I would still do the same. I felt this morning that I would have failed in my duty if I did not say what I say here just now.
I wanted to avoid violence, I want to avoid violence. Non-violence is the first article of my faith. It is also the last article of my creed. But I had to make my choice. I had either to submit to a system which I considered had done an irreparable harm to my country or incur the risk of the mad fury of my people bursting forth when they understood the truth from my lips. I know that my people have sometimes gone mad. I am deeply sorry for it and I am therefore here to submit not to a light penalty, but to the highest penalty. I do not ask for mercy. I do not plead any extenuating act. I am here, therefore, to invite and cheerfully submit to the highest penalty that can be inflicted upon me for what in law is a deliberate crime and what appears to me to be the highest duty of a citizen. The only course open to you, Judge, is either to resign your post or inflict on me the severest penalty.
After this powerful improvisation, where the scruples of a religious spirit are balanced by the heroic firmness of a political leader, Gandhi read a written declaration addressed to the public in India and England. He owed it to them, he said, to explain why, “from a stanch loyalist and coöperator,” he had become an uncompromising disaffectionist and non-coöperator. He dwelt on his public life from 1893 on. He pointed out all he had to suffer, as an Indian, from the British system, and he told of his ceaseless attempts for twenty-five years to reform it. He believed obstinately that this could be accomplished without separating India and England. In spite of all deceptions, he remained a stanch coöperator till 1919. But since then outrages and crimes have surpassed all measure. And instead of making up for injustices, the Government, as if in defiance to the spirit of India, has honored, pensioned, and rewarded its guilty servants. The Government itself has severed all ties. Gandhi has come to the conclusion that even if the desired reforms were now proposed by the Government, they would be harmful. The Government in British India is based on the exploitation of the masses. Laws are made in view of strengthening this exploitation. The administration of the law is prostituted consciously or unconsciously for the benefit of the exploiter. A subtle, but effective, system of terrorization and an organized display of force have emasculated the people and “induced in them the habit of simulation.” India is starving, ruined, degraded; and many claim that before India becomes capable of self-government on the dominion plan generations will have to pass. England has done more harm to India than any previous system. Non-coöperation with evil is a duty. Gandhi’ has done his duty. But whereas in the past non-coöperation has been deliberately expressed in the form of violence inflicted on the evildoer, violence having been the supreme weapon, Gandhi has given his people the new, but indomitable, arm of non-violence.
And then came the chivalrous match between Judge Broomsfield and the Mahatma.
Mr. Gandhi, you have made my task easy in one way by pleading guilty to the charges; nevertheless what remains, namely the determination of a just sentence, is perhaps as difficult a proposition as a judge in this country could have to face.... It would be impossible to ignore the fact that in the eyes of millions of your countrymen you are a great patriot and a great leader. Even those who differ from you in politics look upon you as a man of high ideals and of noble and even saintly life.... But it is my duty to judge you as a man subject to the law.... There are probably few people in India who do not sincerely regret that you should have made it impossible for any Government to leave you at liberty. But it is so. I am trying to balance what is due to you against what appears to me to be necessary in the interest of the public.
With great courtesy he consulted the accused as to the sentence which should be imposed. “You will not consider it unreasonable, I think, to be classed with Mr. Tilak,” sentenced twelve years previously to six years. “If the course of events in India should make it possible for the Government to reduce the period and release you, no one will be better pleased than I.”
Gandhi did not allow the judge to outdo him in courtesy. He claimed it was his proudest privilege and honor to have his name associated with that of Tilak. So far as the sentence itself was concerned, he considered it as light as any judge could impose on him, and as far as the whole proceedings were concerned, he said that he could not have expected greater courtesy.120
The trial was over. Gandhi’s friends fell at his feet, sobbing. The Mahatma took leave of them, smiling. And the door of the jail of Sarbamati closed behind him.121