I could not see then, nor have I seen since, how these dinners qualified the students better for the bar. There was once a time when only a few students used to attend these dinners and thus there were opportunities for talks between them and the benchers, and speeches were also made. These occasions helped to give them knowledge of the world with a sort of polish and refinement, and also improved their power of speaking. No such thing was possible in my time, as the benchers had a table all to themselves. The insti- tution had gradually lost all its meaning, but conservative England retained it nevertheless.
The curriculum of study was easy, barristers being humorously known as ‘dinner barristers’. Everyone knew that the examinations had practically no value. In my time there were two, one in Roman Law and the other in Common Law. There were regular text-books prescribed for these examinations which could be taken in com- partments, but scarcely any one read them. I have known many to pass the Roman Law examination by scrambling through notes on Roman Law in a couple of weeks, and the Common Law examina- tion by reading notes on the subject in two or three months. Ques- tion papers were easy and examiners were generous. The percentage of passes in the Roman Law examination used to be 95 to 99 and of those in the final examination 75 or even more. There was thus little fear of being plucked, and examinations were held not once but four times in the year. They could not be felt as a difficulty.
But I succeeded in turning them into one. I felt that I should read all the text-books. It was a fraud, I thought, not to read these books. I invested much money in them. I decided to read Roman Law in Latin. The Latin which I had acquired in the London Matri- culation stood me in good stead. And all this reading was not with- out its value later on in South Africa, where Roman Dutch is the common law. The reading of Justinian, therefore, helped me a great deal in understanding the South African law.
It took me nine months of fairly hard labour to read through the Common Law of England. For Broom’s Common Law, a big but interesting volume, took up a good deal of time. Snell’s Equity was full of interest, but a bit hard to understand. White and Tudor’s Leading Cases, from which certain cases were prescribed, was full of interest and instruction. I read also with interest Williams’ and Edwards’ Real Property, and Goodeve’s Personal Property. Wiliiams’ book read like a novel. The one book I remember to have read on my return to India, with the same unflagging interest, was 58 MY EXPERIMENTS WITH TRUTH Mayne’s Hindu Law. But it is out of place to talk here of Indian law-books.
I passed my examinations, was called to the bar on the 10th of June 1891, and enrolled in the High Court on the 11th. On the 12th I sailed for home.
But notwithstanding my study there was no end to my helpless- ness and fear. I did not feel myself qualified to practise law.
But a separate chapter is needed to describe this helplessness of mine.
XXV MY HELPLESSNESS It was easy to be called, but it was difficult to practise at the bar. I had read the laws, but not learnt how to practise law. I had read with interest ‘ Legal Maxims’, but did not know how to apply them in my profession. ‘ Sic utere tuo ut alienum non laedas’ (Use your property in such a way as not to damage that of others) was one of them, but I was at a loss to know how one could employ this maxim for the benefit of one’s client. I had read all the leading cases on this maxim, but they gave me no confidence in the applica- tion of it in the practice of law.
Besides, I had learnt nothing at all of Indian law. I had not the slightest idea of Hindu and Mahommedan Law. I had not even learnt how to draft a plaint, and felt completely at sea. I had heard of Sir Pherozeshah Mehta as one who roared like a lion in law courts. How, I wondered, could he have learnt the art in England? It was out of the question for me ever to acquire his legal acumen, but I had serious misgivings as to whether I should be able even to earn a living by the profession.
I was torn with these doubts and anxieties whilst I was studying law. I confided my difficulties to some of my friends. One of them suggested that I should seek Dadabhai Naoroji’s advice. I have already said that, when I went to England, I possessed a note of introduction to Dadabhai. I availed myself of it very late. I thought Thad no right to trouble such a great man for an interview. When- ever an address by him was announced, I would attend it, listen to him from a corner of the hall and go away after having feasted my eyes and ears. In order to come in close touch with the students he had founded an association. I used to attend its meetings, and rejoiced at Dadabhai’s solicitude for the students, and the latter’s ps for him. In course of time I mustered up courage to present ne ee note of introduction. He said: ‘You can come and have me ee you like” But I never availed myself of his e ght it wrong to trouble him without the most pressing necessity. Therefore I dared not venture to accept my friend’s advice MY HELPLESSNESS 59 to submit my difficulties to Dadabhai at that time. I forget now whether it was the same friend or someone else who recommended me to meet Mr. Frederick Pincutt. He was a Conservative, but his affection for Indian students was pure and unselfish. Many students sought his advice and I also applied to him for an appointment, which he granted.” I can never forget that interview. He greeted me as a friend. He laughed away my pessimism. ‘Do you think,’ he said, ‘that everyone must be a Pherozeshah Mehta? Pheroze- shahs and Badruddins are rare. Rest assured it takes no unusual skill to be an ordinary lawyer. Common honesty and industry are enough to enable him to make a living. All cases are not compli- cated. Well, let me know the extent of your general reading.’
When I acquainted him with my little stock of reading, he was, as I could see, rather disappointed. But it was only for a moment. Soon his face beamed with a pleasing smile and he said, ‘I under- stand your trouble. Your general reading is meagre. You have no knowledge of the world, a sine qua non for a vakil. You have not even read the history of India. A vakil should know human nature. He should be able to read a man’s character from his face. And every Indian ought to know Indian history. This has no connection with the practice of law, put you ought to have that knowledge. I see that you have not even read Kaye and Malleson’s history of the Mutiny of 1857. Get hold of that at once and also read two more books to understand human nature.’ These were Lavator’s and Shemmelpennick’s books on physiognomy.
T Jy grateful to this venerable friend. In his presence I Sud ea AEE, but as soon as I left him I began to worry again. ‘To know a man from his face’ was the question that haunted me, as I thought of the two books on my way home. The next day I purchased Lavator’s book. Shemmelpennick’s was not available at the shop. I read Tayator s bo misty Snell’s ity, and scarcely in eres i s SAM T did not acquire the knack of Braue out the Shakespeares walking uP and down the ae Sap ion: no ah y y id not add to my knowle ge. Mr. Pincutt’s advice aid arator e a EATE service, but his kindness stood me in good n face stayed in my memory, and I trusted st is iling ope a ne at EON Mehta’s acumen, memory and ability ial to the making of a successful lawyer; honesty Yaa PEE enough. And as I had a fair share of these last I felt somewhat reassured. H. i EN EENT -ead Kaye and Ma leson’s volumes in England, bu j e a ‘Africa as I had made a point of reading them at the first opportunity- he ee ee, ith just a little leaven of hope mixed with my despair, eens Bee from s.s. Assam. The sea was rough in the harbour, and I had to reach the quay in a launch.
THE STORY OF MY EXPERIMENTS WITH ‘TRUTH PART IE I RAYCHANDBHAT I said in the last chapter that the sea was rough in Bombay harbour, not an unusual thing in the Arabian Sea in June and July. It had been choppy all the way from Aden. Almost every passenger was sick; I alone was in perfect form, staying on deck to see the stormy surge, and enjoying the splash of the waves. At breakfast there would be just one or two people besides myself, eating their oatmeal porridge from plates carefully held in their laps, lest the porridge itself find its place there.
The outer storm was to me a symbol of the inner. But even as the former left me unperturbed, I think I can say the same thing about the latter. There was the trouble with the caste that was to confront me. I have already adverted to my helplessness in starting on my profession. And then, as I was a reformer, I was taxing my- self as to how best to begin certain reforms. But there was even more in store for me than I knew.
My elder brother had come to meet me at the dock. He had already made the acquaintance of Dr. Mehta and his elder brother, and as Dr. Mehta insisted on putting me up at his house, we went there. Thus the acquaintance begun in England continued in India t friendship between the two families.
I was pining to see my mother. I did not know that she was no more in the flesh to receive me back into her bosom. The sad news was now given me, and I underwent the usual ablution. My brother had kept me ignorant of her death, which took place whilst I was still in England. He wanted to spar The news, however, was none the I must not dwell upon it. My grief was even greater than over my father’s death. Most of my cherished hopes were shattered. But I remember that I did not give myself up to any wild expression of grief. I could even check the tears, and took to life just as though nothing had happened.
Dr. Mehta introduced me to several friends, one of them being his brother Shri Revashankar Jagjivan, with whom there grew up a lifelong friendship. But the introduction that I need particularly take note of was the one to the poet Raychand or Rajchandra, the son-in-law of an elder brother of Dr. Mehta, and partner of the firm of jewellers conducted in the name of Revashankar Jagjivan. He was not above twenty-five then, but my first meeting with him convinced me that he was a man of great character and learning. He was also known as Shatavadhani (one having the faculty of remembering or attending to a hundred things simultaneously), and Dr. Mehta recommended me to see some of his memory feats. I 63 64 MY EXPERIMENTS WITH TRUTH exhausted my vocabulary of all the European tongues I knew, and asked the poet to repeat the words. He did so in the precise order in which I had given them. I envied his gift without, however, coming under its spell. The thing that did cast its spell over me I came to know afterwards. This was his wide knowledge of the scriptures, his spotless character, and his burning passion for self- realization. I saw later that this last was the only thing for which he lived. The following lines of Muktanand were always on his lips and engraved on the tablets of his heart: ‘I shall think myself blessed only when I see Him in every one of my daily acts; Verily He is the thread, which supports Muktanand’s life.’
Raychandbhai’s commercial transactions covered hundreds of thousands. He was a connoisseur of pearls and diamonds. No knotty business problem was too difficult for him. But all these things were not the centre round which his life revolved. That centre was the passion to see God face to face. Amongst the things on his business table there were invariably to be found some religious book and his diary. The moment he finished his business he opened the reli- gious book or the diary. Much of his published writings is a repro- duction from this diary. The man who, immediately on finishing his talk about weighty business transactions, began to write about the hidden things of the spirit could evidently not be a businessman at all, but a real seeker after Truth. And I saw him thus absorbed in godly pursuits in the midst of business, not once or twice, but very often. I never saw him lose his state of equipoise. There was no business or other selfish tie that bound him to me, and yet I en- joyed the closest association with him. I was but a briefless barrister then, and yet whenever I saw him he would engage me in conversa- tion of a seriously religious nature. Though I was then groping and could not be said to have any serious interest in religious discussion, still I found his talk of absorbing interest. I have since met many a religious leader or teacher. I have tried to meet the heads of various faiths, and I must say that no one else has ever made on me the impression that Raychandbhai did. His words went straight home to me. His intellect compelled as great a regard from me as his moral earnestness, and deep down in me was the conviction that he would never willingly lead me astray and would always confide to me his innermost thoughts. In my moments of spiritual crisis, therefore, he was my refuge.
And yet in spite of this regard for him I could not enthrone him in my heart as my Guru. The throne has remained vacant and my search still continues.
I believe in the Hindu theory of Guru and his importance in spiri- tual realization. I think there is a great deal of truth in the doctrine that true knowledge is impossible without a Guru. An imperfect teacher may be tolerable in mundane matters, but not in spiritual HOW I BEGAN LIFE 65 matters. Only a perfect gnani! deserves to be enthroned as Guru. There must, therefore, be ceaseless striving after perfection. For one gets the Guru that one deserves. Infinite striving after perfection is one’s right. It is its own reward. The rest is in the hands of God.
Thus, though I could not place Raychandbhai on the throne of my heart as Guru, we shall see how he was, on many occasions, my guide and helper. Three moderns have left a deep impress on my life, and captivated me: Raychandbhai by his living contact; Tolstoy by his book, The Kingdom of God is Within You; and Ruskin by his Unto This Last. But of these more in their proper place.
II HOW I BEGAN LIFE My elder brother had built high hopes on me. The desire for wealth and name and fame was great in him. He had a big heart, generous to a fault. This, combined with his simple nature, had attracted to him many friends, and through them he expected to get me briefs. He had also assumed that I should have a swinging Practice and had, in that expectation, allowed the household expenses to become top-heavy. He had also left no stone unturned in Preparing the field for my practice.
The storm in my caste over my foreign voyage was still brewing. It had divided the caste into two camps, one of which immediately Teadmitted me, while the other was pent on keeping me out. To Please the former my brother took me to Nasik before going to Rajkot, gave me a bath in the sacred river and, on reaching Rajkot, gave a caste dinner. I did not like all this. But my brother’s love for Me was boundless, and my devotion to him was in proportion to it, and so I mechanically acted as he wished, taking his will to be law. The trouble about readmission to the caste was thus practically over.
I never tried to seek admission to the section that had refused it. or did I feel even mental resentment against any of the headmen Of that section. Some of these regarded me with dislike, but I serupu- lously avoided hurting their feelings. I fully respected the caste Tegulations about excommunication. According to these, none of my relations, including My father-in-law and mother-in-law, and even my sister and brother-in-law, could entertain me; and I would not So much as drink water at their houses. They were prepared secretly but it went against the grain with me to ey is ibition, ade the prohi ould not do in public.
do a thing in secret that I w are ba Th scrupulous conduct was that I never ad occasion: to he ae ee R EN nay, I have experienced nothing but affection and generosity from the general body of the section that EE yee cy ee R wr ey 1. A knowing one, a seer.
5 66 MY EXPERIMENTS WITH TRUTH still regards me as excommunicated. They have even helped me in my work, without ever expecting me to do anything for the caste. It is my conviction that all these good things are due to my non- resistance. Had I agitated for being admitted to the caste, had I attempted to divide it into more camps, had I provoked the caste- men, they would surely have retaliated, and instead of steering clear of the storm, I should, on arrival from England, have found myself in a whirlpool of agitation, and perhaps a party to dissimulation.
My relations with my wife were still not as I desired. Even my stay in England had not cured me of jealousy. I continued my squeamish- ness and suspiciousness in respect of every little thing, and hence all my cherished desires remained unfulfilled. I had decided that my wife should learn reading and writing and that I should help her in her studies, but my lust came in the way and she had to suffer for my own shortcoming. Once I went the length of sending her away to her father’s house, and consented to receive her back only after I had made her thoroughly miserable. I saw later that all this was pure folly on my part.
I had planned reform in the education of children. My brother had children, and my own child which I had left at home when I went to England was now a boy of nearly four. It was my desire to teach these little ones physical exercise and make them hardy, and also to give them the benefit of my personal guidance. In this I had my brother’s support and I succeeded in my efforts more or less. I very much liked the company of children, and the habit of playing and joking with them has stayed with me till today. I have ever since thought that I should make a good teacher of children.
The necessity for food ‘reform’ was obvious. Tea and coffee had already found their place in the house. My brother had thought it fit to keep some sort of English atmosphere ready for me on my return, and to that end, crockery and such other things, which used to be kept in the house only for special occasions, were now in general use. My ‘reforms’ put the finishing touch. I introduced oat-meal porridge, and cocoa was to replace tea and coffee. But in truth it became an addition to tea and coffee. Boots and shoes were already there. I completed the Europeanization by adding the European dress.
Expenses thus went up. New things were added every day. We had succeeded in tying a white elephant at our door. But how was the wherewithal to be found? To start practice in Rajkot would have meant sure ridicule. I had hardly the knowledge of a qualified vakil and yet I expected to be paid ten times his fee! No client would be fool enough to engage me. And even if such a one was to be found, should I add arrogance and fraud to my ignorance, and increase the burden of debt I owed to the world?
Friends advised me to go to Bomba ime i i ;: y for some time in order to gain experience of the High Court, to study Indian law and to try get what briefs I could. I took up the suggestion and went.
THE FIRST CASE 67 In Bombay I started a household with a cook as incompetent as myself. He was a Brahman. I did not treat him as a servant but as a member of the household. He would pour water over himself but never wash. His dhoti was dirty, as also his sacred thread, and he was eer innocent of the scriptures. But how was I to get a better cook?
‘Well, Ravishankar,’ (for that was his name), I would ask him, ‘you may not know cooking, but surely you must know your sandhya (daily worship), etc.’
‘ Sandhya, sir! The plough is our sandhya and the spade our daily ritual. That is the type of Brahman I am. I must live on your mercy. Otherwise agriculture is of course there for me.’
So I had to be Ravishankar’s teacher. Time I had enough. I began to do half the cooking myself and introduced the English experi- ments in vegetarian cookery. I invested in a stove, and with Ravishankar began to run the kitchen. I had no scruples about inter- dining, Ravishankar too came to have none, and so we went on merrily together. There was only one obstacle. Ravishankar had sworn to remain dirty and to keep the food unclean!
But it was impossible for me to get along in Bombay for more than four or five months, there being no income to square with the ever-increasing expenditure.
This was how I began life. I found the barrister’s profession a bad job — much show and little knowledge. I felt a crushing sense of my responsibility.
I THE FIRST CASE Whilst in Bombay, I began, on the one hand, my study of Indian law and, on the other, my experiments in dietetics in which Virchand Gandhi, a friend, joined me. My brother, for his part, was trying his best to get me briefs. y ‘ ale The study of Indian law was a tedious business. The Civil Proce- dure Code I could in no way get on with. Not so, however, with the Evidence Act. Virchand Gandhi was reading for the Solicitor’s Examination and would tell me all sorts of stories about barristers and vakils. ‘Sir Pherozeshah’s ability,’ he would say, ‘lies in his Profound knowledge of law. He has the Evidence Act by heart and knows all the cases on the thirty-second section. Badruddin Tyabji’s Wonderful power of argument inspires the judges with awe.’
The stories of stalwarts such as these would unnerve me.
‘Tt is not unusual,’ he would add, ‘for a barrister to vegetate for five or seven years. That’s why I have signed the articles for Solicitorship. You should count yourself lucky if you can paddle your own canoe in three years’ time.’
68 MY EXPERIMENTS WITH TRUTH Expenses were mounting up every month. To have a barrister’s board outside the house, whilst still preparing for the barrister’s profession inside, was a thing to which I could not reconcile myself. Hence I could not give undivided attention to my studies. I deve- loped some liking for the Evidence Act and read Mayne’s Hindu Law with deep interest, but I had not the courage to conduct a case. I was helpless beyond words, even as the bride come fresh to her father-in-law’s house!
About this time, I took up the case of one Mamibai. It was a “small cause’. ‘You will have to pay some commission to the tout,’ I was told. I emphatically declined.
‘But even that great criminal lawyer Mr. So-and-So, who makes three to four thousand a month, pays commission!’
‘I do not need to emulate him,’ I rejoined. ‘I should be content with Rs. 300 a month. Father did not get more.’
‘But those days are gone. Expenses in Bombay have gone up frightfully. You must be businesslike.’
I was adamant. I gave no commission, but got Mamibai’s case all the same. It was an easy case. I charged Rs. 30 for my fees. The case was not likely to last longer than a day.
This was my debut in the Small Causes Court. I appeared for the defendant and had thus to cross-examine the plaintifi’s witnesses. I stood up, but my heart sank into my boots. My head was reeling and I felt as though the whole court was doing likewise. I could think of no question to ask. The judge must have laughed, and the vakils no doubt enjoyed the spectacle. But I was past seeing any- thing. I sat down and told the agent that I could not conduct the case, that he had better engage Patel and have the fee back from me. Mr. Patel was duly engaged for Rs. 51. To him, of course, the case was child’s play.
I hastened from the Court, not knowing whether my client won or lost her case, but I was ashamed of myself, and decided not to take up any more cases until I had courage enough to conduct them. Indeed I did not go to Court again until I went to South Africa. There was no virtue in my decision. I had simply made a virtue of necessity. There would be no one so foolish as to entrust his case to me, only to lose it!
But there was another case in store for me at Bombay. It was a memorial to be drafted. A poor Musalman’s land was confiscated in Porbandar. He approached me as the worthy son of a worthy father. His case appeared to be weak, but I consented to draft a memorial for him, the cost of printing to be borne by him. I drafted it and read it out to friends, They approved of it, and that to some extent made me feel confident that I was qualified enough to draft a memorial, as indeed I really was.
My business could flourish if I drafted memorials without any THE FIRST CASE 69 fees. But that would bring no grist to the mill. So I thought I might take up a teacher’s job. My knowledge of English was good enough, and I should have loved to teach English to Matriculation boys in some school. In this way I could have met part at least of the expen- ses. I came across an advertisement in the papers: ‘Wanted, an English teacher to teach one hour daily. Salary Rs. 75. The advertisement was from a famous high school. I applied for the post and was called for an interview. I went there in high spirits, but when the principal found that I was not a graduate, he regretfully refused me.
‘But I have passed the London Matriculation with Latin as my second language.’
‘True, but we want a graduate.’
There was no help for it. I wrung my hands in despair. My bro- ther also felt much worried. We both came to the conclusion that it was no use spending more time in Bombay. I should settle in Rajkot where my brother, himself a petty pleader, could give me some work in the shape of drafting applications and memorials. And then as there was already a household at Rajkot, the breaking up of the one at Bombay meant a considerable saving. I liked the suggestion. My little establishment was thus closed after a stay of six months in Bombay.
I used to attend High Court daily whilst in Bombay, but I cannot say that I learnt anything there. I had not sufficient knowledge to learn much. Often I could not follow the cases and dozed off. There were others also who kept me company in this, and thus lightened my load of shame. After a time, I even lost the sense of shame, as T learnt to think that it was fashionable to doze in the High Court. _ If the present generation has also its briefless barristers like me in Bombay, I would commend them a little practical precept about living. Although I lived in Girgaum I hardly ever took a carriage or a tramcar. I had made it a rule to walk to the High Court. It took me quite forty-five minutes, and of course I invariably returned home on foot. I had inured myself to the heat of the sun. This walk to and from the Court saved a fair amount of money, and when Many of my friends in Bombay used to fall ill, I do not remember having once had an illness. Even when I began to earn money, I kept up the practice of walking to and from the office, and I am still reaping the benefits of that practice.
IV THE FIRST SHOCK IV THE FIRST SHOCK Disappointed, I left Bombay and went to Rajkot where I set up my own office. Here I got along moderately well. Drafting applica- tions and memorials brought me in, on an average, Rs. 300 a month. For this work I had to thank influence rather than my own ability, for my brother’s partner had a settled practice. All applications etc. which were, really or to his mind of an important character, he sent to big barristers. To my lot fell the applications to be drafted on behalf of his poor clients.
I must confess that here I had to compromise the principle of giving no commission, which in Bombay I had so scrupulously ob- served. I was told that conditions in the two cases were different; that whilst in Bombay commissions had to be paid to touts, here they had to be paid to vakils who briefed you; and that here as in Bombay all barristers, without exception, paid a percentage of their fees as commission. The argument of my brother was, for me, un- answerable. ‘You see,’ said he, ‘that I am in partnership with another vakil. I shall always be inclined to make over to you all our cases with which you can possibly deal, and if you refuse to pay a commission to my partner, you are sure to embarrass me. As you and I have a joint establishment, your fee comes to our common purse, and I automatically get a share. But what about my partner? Supposing he gave the same case to some other barris- ter, he would certainly get his commission from him.’ I was taken in by this plea, and felt that, if I was to practise as a barrister, I could not press my principle regarding commission in such cases. That is how I argued with myself, or to put it bluntly, how I deceived myself. Let me add, however, that I do not remember ever to have given a commission in respect of any other case. i Though I thus began to make both ends meet, I got the first shock of my life about this time. I had heard what a British officer was like, but up to now had never been face to face with one.
My brother had been secretary and adviser to the late Ranasaheb of Porbandar before he was installed on his gadi 1, and hanging over his head at this time was the charge of having given wrong advice when in that office. The matter had gone to the Political Agent who was prejudiced against my brother. Now I had known this officer when in England, and he may be said to have been fairly friendly to me. My brother thought that I should avail myself of the friendship and, putting in a good word on his behalf, try to disabuse the Political Agent of his prejudice. I did not at all like this idea. I should not, I thought, try to take advantage of a trifling acquaintance in England. If my brother was really at fault, what 1. Throne.
70 THE FIRST SHOCK 71 use was my recommendation? If he was innocent, he should submit a petition in the proper course and, confident of his innocence, face the result. My brother did not relish this advice. ‘You do not know Kathiawad,’ he said, ‘and you have yet to know the world. Only influence counts here. It is not proper for you, a brother, to shirk your duty, when you can clearly put in a good word about me to an officer you know.’
I could not refuse him, so I went to the officer much against my will. I knew I had no right to approach him and was fully conscious that I was compromising my self-respect. But I sought an appoint- ment and got it. I reminded him of the old acquaintance, but I immediately saw that Kathiawad was different from England; that an officer on leave was not the same as an officer on duty. The Political Agent owned the acquaintance, but the reminder seemed to stiff im. ‘ Jy you have not come here to abuse that ac- Wen bim ees a ing of that stiffness, quaintance, have you?’ appeared to be the meanin and seemed to be written on his prow. Nevertheless I opened my case. The sahib was impatient. ‘Your brother is an intriguer. I want to hear nothing more from you. I have no time. If your brother has anything to say, let him apply through the proper channel.’ The answer was enough, was perhaps deserved. But selfishness is blind. I went on with my story. The sahib got up and said: ‘You must go now.’
f? > said I. That made him more angry. He a son a H ow me the door. I was still called his peon and ordered him to show |: hesitating when the peon came in, placed his hands on my shoulders and put me out of the room. ar se The sahib went away as also the peon, and I departed, fre ing and fuming. I at once wrote out and sent over a note to this effect: “You have insulted me. You have assaulted me through your peon.
If you make no amends, I shall have to proceed against you.’
Quick came the answer through his sowar: 3 1 ae “You rude to me. I asked you to go and you Wọ; had no Cts but to order my peon to show you the de p after he asked you to leave the office, you did not do so. He t ere- fore had to use just enough force to send you out. You are at liberty to proceed as you wish.’ With this answer in my pocket, I came home crestfallen, and told my brother all that had happened. He was grieved, but was at a loss as to how to console me. He spoke to his vakil friends. For I did not know how to proceed against the sahib. Sir Pherozeshah Mehta happened to be in Rajkot at this time, having come down from Bombay for some case- But how could a junior barrister like me dare to see him? So I sent him the papers of my case, through the vakil who had engaged him, and begged for his advice. ‘Tell Gandhi,’ he said, ‘such things are the common experience of many vakils and barristers. He is still fresh from England, and hot-blooded.
72 MY EXPERIMENTS WITH TRUTH