He does not know British officers. If he would earn something and have an easy time here, let him tear up the note and pocket the insult. He will gain nothing by proceeding against the sahib, and on the contrary will very likely ruin himself, Tell him he has yet to know life.’
The advice was as bitter as poison to me, but I had to swallow it. I pocketed the insult, but also profited by it. ‘Never again shall I place myself in such a false position, never again shall I try to exploit friendship in this way, said I to myself, and since then I have never been guilty of a breach of that determination. This shock changed the course of my life.
vV PREPARING FOR SOUTH AFRICA I was no doubt at fault in having gone to that officer.. But his impatience and overbearing anger were out of all proportion to my mistake. It did not warrant cxpulsion. I can scarcely have taken up more than five minutes of his time. But he simply could not endure my talking. He could have politely asked me to go, but power had intoxicated him to an inordinate extent. Later I came to know that patience was not one of the virtues of this officer. It was usual for him to insult his ‘visitors. The slightest unpleasantness was sure to put the sahib out.
Now most of my work would naturally be in his court. It was beyond me to conciliate him. I had no desire to curry favour with him. Indeed, having once threatened to proceed against him, I did not like to remain silent.
Meanwhile I began to learn something of the petty politics of the country. Kathiawad, being a conglomeration of small States, natu- rally had its rich crop of politicals. Petty intrigues between States, and intrigues of officers for power were the order of the day. Princes were always at the mercy of others and ready to lend their ears to sycophants. Even the sahib’s peon had to be cajoled, and the sahib’s shirastedar was more than his master, as he was his eyes, his ears and his interpreter. The shirastedar’s will was law, and his income was always reputed to be more than the sahib’s. This may have been an exaggeration, but he certainly lived beyond his salary.
This atmosphere appeared to me to be poisonous, and how to Temain unscathed was a perpetual problem for me.
I was thoroughly depressed and my brother clearly saw it. We both felt that, if I could secure some job, I should be free from this atmosphere of intrigue. But without intrigue a ministership or judgeship was out of the question. And the quarrel with the sahib stood in the way of my practice.
PREPARING FOR SOUTH AFRICA 73 Porbandar was then under administration, and I had some work there in the shape of securing more powers for the Prince. Also I had to see the Administrator in respect of the heavy vighoti (land rent) exacted from the Mers. This officer, though an Indian, was, I found, one better than the sahib in arrogance. He was able, but the ryots appeared to me to be none the better off for his ability. I succeeded in securing a few more powers for the Rana, but hardly any relief for the Mers. It struck me that their cause was not even carefully gone into.
So even in this mission I was comparatively disappointed. I thought justice was not done to my clients, but I had not the means to secure it, At the most I could have appealed to the Political Agent or to the Governor who would have dismissed the appeal saying, “we decline to interfere.’ If there had been any rule or regulation governing such decisions, it would have been something, but here the sahib’s will was law.
I was exasperated.
I was exasperated.
In the meantime a Meman firm from Porbandar wrote to my brother making the following offer: ‘We have business in South Africa. Ours is a big firm, and we have a big case there in the Court, our claim being £ 40,000. It has been going on for a long time. We have engaged the services of the best vakils and barris- ters. If you sent your brother there, he would be useful to us and also to himself. He would be able to instruct our counsel better than ourselves, And he would have the advantage of seeing a new part of the world, and of making new acquaintances.’ id M; iscussed the proposition with me. I could not clearly make ae ther Teel ENAT instruct the counsel or to appear in court. But I was tempted. ey e E; i ced me to the late Sheth ul Karim Jhaveri, a ae raais & Co., the firm in question. ‘It won’t be a difficult job’ the Sheth assured me. ‘We have big Europeans as our friends, whose acquaintance you will make. You can be useful to us in our shop. Much of our correspondence is in English and you can help us with that too. You will, of course, be our guest and hence will have no expense whatever.
“How long do you require my services?’ I asked. be the payment?’
“Not more than a year. We will pay you a first class return fare and a sum of £ 105, all found.’ i W i i oing there as a barrister. was going as a Ae ee Bub I wanted somehow to leave India. There was also the tempting opportunity of cared ene oe ace havi ience. Also I could sen o my brother ahd Help ne aea of the household. I closed with the offer without any higgling, and got ready to go to South Africa.
‘ And what will VI ARRIVAL IN NATAL When starting for South Africa I did not feel the wrench of sepa- ration which I had experienced when leaving for England. My mother was now no more. I had gained some knowledge of the world and of travel abroad, and going from Rajkot to Bombay was no unusual affair.
This time I only felt the pang of parting with my wife. Another baby had been born to us since my return from England. Our love could not yet be called free from lust, but it was getting gradually purer. Since my return from Europe, we had lived very little to- gether; and as I had now become her teacher, however indifferent, and helped her to make certain reforms, we both felt the necessity of being more together, if only to continue the reforms. But the attraction of South Africa rendered the separation bearable. ‘We are bound to meet again in a year,’ I said to her, by way of consola- tion, and left Rajkot for Bombay.
Here I was to get my passage through the agent of Dada Abdulla and Company. But no berth was available on the boat, and if I did not sail then, I should be stranded in Bombay. ‘We have tried our best,’ said the agent, ‘to secure a first class passage, but in vain — unless you are prepared to go on deck. Your meals can be arranged for in the saloon.’ Those were the days of my first class travelling, and how could a barrister travel as a deck passenger? So I refused the offer. I suspected the agent’s veracity, for I could not believe that a first class passage was not available. With the agent’s consent I set about securing it myself. I went on board the boat and met the chief officer. He said to me quite frankly, ‘We do not usually have such a rush. But as the Governor-General of Mozambique is going by this boat, all the berths are engaged.’
‘Could you not possibly squeeze me in?’ I asked.
He surveyed me from top to toe and smiled. ‘There is just one way,’ he said. ‘ There is an extra berth in my cabin, which is usually not available for passengers. But I am prepared to give it to you,’ I thanked him and got the agent to purchase the passage. In April 1893 I set forth full of zest to try my luck in South Africa.
The first port of call was Lamu which we reached in about thirteen days. The Captain and I had become great friends by this time. He was fond of playing chess, but as he was quite a novice, he wanted one still more of a beginner for his partner, and so he invited me. I had heard a lot about the game but had never tried my hand at it. Players used to say that this was a game in which there was plenty of scope for the exercise of one’s intelligence. The Captain offered to give me lessons, and he found me a good pupil as I had 14 ARRIVAL IN NATAL 75 unlimited patience. Every time I was the loser, and that made him all the more eager to teach me. I liked the game, but never carried my liking beyond the boat or my knowledge beyond the moves of the pieces.
At Lamu the ship remained at anchor for some three to four hours, and I landed to see the port. The Captain had also gone ashore, but he had warned me that the harbour was treacherous and that I should return in good time.
It was a very small place. I went to the Post Office and was delighted to see the Indian clerks there, and had a talk with them. I also saw the Africans and tried to acquaint myself with their ways of life which interested me very much. This took up some time.
There were some deck passengers with whom I had made acquaintance, and who had landed with a view to cooking their food on shore and having a quiet meal. I now found them preparing to return to the steamer, so we all got into the same boat. The tide was high in the harbour and our boat had more than its proper load. The current was so strong that it was impossible to hold the boat to the ladder of the steamer. It would just touch the ladder and be drawn away again by the current. The first whistle to start had already gone. I was worried. The Captain was witnessing our plight from the bridge. He ordered the steamer to wait an extra five minutes. There was another boat near the ship which a friend hired for me for ten rupees. This boat picked me up from the overloaded one. ` had already been raised. I had therefore to be Sn te eee 4 nd the steamer started immediately.
drawn up by means of a rope a x The oiber r asnar were left behind. I now appreciated the Captain’s warning.
After Lamu the next port halt here was a long one — 18 to another boat.
in liked me much but the liking took an undesirable hina A a ‘English friend and me to accompany him on an outing, and we all went ashore in his boat. I had not the least notion of what the outing meant. And little did the Captain know what an ignoramus I was jn such matters. We were taken to some Negro women’s quarters by a tout. We were each shown into a room, I simply stood there dumb with shame. Heaven only knows what the poor woman must have thought of me. When the Captain called me I came out just as I had gone in. He saw my innocence. At first I felt very much ashamed, but as I could not think of the thing except with horror, the sense of shame wore away, and I thanked God that the sight of the woman had not moved me in the least. I was disgusted at my weakness and pitied myself for not having had the courage to refuse to g0 into the room.
was Mombasa and then Zanzibar. The ht or ten days — and we then changed 76 MY EXPERIMENTS WITH TRUTH This in my life was the third trial of its kind. Many a youth, innocent at first, must have been drawn into sin by a false sense of shame. I could claim no credit for having come out unscathed. I could have credit if I had refused to enter that room. I must entirely thank the All-merciful for having saved me. The incident increased my faith in God and taught me, to a certain extent, to cast off false shame.
As we had to remain in this\port for a week, I took rooms in the town and saw a good deal by wandering about the neighbourhood. Only Malabar can give any idea of the luxuriant vegetation of Zanzibar. I was amazed at the gigantic trees and the size of the fruits.
The next call was at Mozambique and thence we reached Natal towards the close of May. va VII SOME EXPERIENCES The port of Natal is Durban also known as Port Natal. Abdulla Sheth was there to receive me. As the ship arrived at the quay and I watched the people coming on board to meet their friends, I ob- served that the Indians were not held in much respect. I could not fail to notice a sort of snobbishness about the manner in which those who knew Abdulla Sheth behaved towards him, and it stung me. Abdulla Sheth had got used to it. Those who looked at me did so with a certain amount of curiosity. My dress marked me out from other Indians. I had a frock-coat and a turban, an imitation of the Bengal pugree.
I was taken to the firm’s quarters and shown into the room set apart for me, next to Abdulla Sheth’s. He did not understand me, I could not understand him. He read the papers his brother had sent through me, and felt more puzzled. He thought his brother had sent him a white elephant. My style of dress and living struck him as being expensive like that of the Europeans. There was no particular work then which could be given me. Their case was going on in the Transvaal. There was no meaning in sending me there immediately. And how far could he trust my ability and honesty? He would not be in Pretoria to watch me. The defendants were in Pretoria, and for aught he knew they might bring undue influence to bear on me. And if work in connection with the case in question was not to be entrusted to me, what work could I be given to do, as all other work could be done much better by his clerks? The clerks could be brought to book, if they did wrong. Could I be, if I also happened to err? So if no work in connection with the case could be given me, I should have to be kept for nothing.
Abdulla Sheth was practicall l y unlettered, but he had a rich fund of experience. He had an acuti e intellect and was conscious of it. By SOME EXPERIENCES, 77 practice he had picked up just sufficient English for conversational purposes, but that served him for carrying on all his business, whe- ther it was dealing with Bank Managers and European merchants or explaining his case to his counsel. The Indians held him in very high esteem. His firm was then the biggest, or at any rate one of the biggest, of the Indian firms. With all these advantages he had one disadvantage — he was by nature suspicious.
He was proud of Islam and loved to discourse on Islamic philo- sophy. Though he did not know Arabic, his acquaintance with the Holy Koran and Islamic literature in general was fairly good. Ilus- trations he had in plenty, always ready at hand. Contact with him gave me a fair amount of practical knowledge of Islam. When we came closer to each other, we had long discussions on religious topics.
On the second or third day of my arrival, he took me to see the Durban court. There he introduced me to several people and seated me next to his attorney. The Magistrate kept staring at me and finally asked me to take off my turban. This I refused to do and left the court.
So here too there was fighting in store for me.
Abdulla Sheth explained to me why some Indians were required to take off their turbans. Those wearing the Musalman costume might, he said, keep their turbans on, but the other Indians on entering a court had to take theirs off as a rule.
I must enter into some details to make this nice distinction intelligible. In the course of these two or three days I could see that the Indians were divided into different groups. One was that of Musalman merchants, who would call themselves ‘ Arabs’. Another Was that of Hindu, and yet another of Parsi, clerks. The Hindu clerks were neither here nor there, unless they cast in their lot with the ‘ Arabs’, The Parsi clerks would call themselves Persians. These three classes had some social relations with one another. But by far the largest class was that composed of Tamil, Telugu and North Indian indentured and freed labourers. The indentured labourers Were those who went to Natal on an agreement to serve for five years, and came to be known there as girmitiyas from girmit, which was the corrupt form of the English word * agreement’. The other three classes had none but business relations with this class. English- Men called them ‘coolies ° and as the majority of Indians belonged to the labouring class, all Indians were called ‘coolies’, or “samis’, € Sami? is a Tamil suffix occurring after many Tamil names, and it is nothing else than the Samskrit Swami, meaning a master. Whenever, therefore, an Indian resented being addressed as a ‘sami’ and had enough wit in him, he would try to return the compliment in this wise: ‘You may call me sami, but you forget that sami means a Master. I am not your master 1? Some| Englishmen would wince at this, while others would get angry, swear at the Indian and, if there 78 MY EXPERIMENTS WITH TRUTH was a chance, would even belabour him; for ‘sami’ to him was nothing better than a term of contempt. To interpret it to mean a master amounted to an insult!
I was hence known as a ‘coolie barrister’, The merchants were known as ‘coolie merchants’. The original meaning of the word ‘coolie’ was thus forgotten, and it became a common appellation for all Indians. The Musalman merchant would resent this and say: ‘I am not a coolie, I am an Arab,’ or ‘I am a merchant,’ and the Englishman, if courteous, would apologize to him.
The question of wearing the turban had a great importance in this state of things. Being obliged to take off one’s Indian turban would be pocketing an insult. So I thought I had better bid good-bye to the Indian turban and begin wearing an English hat, which would save, me from the insult and the unpleasant controversy.
But Abdulla Sheth disapproved of the idea. He said, ‘If you do anything of the kind, it will have a very bad effect. You will compro- mise those insisting on wearing Indian turbans. And an Indian turban sits well on your head. If you wear an English hat, you will pass for a waiter.’
There was practical wisdom, patriotism and a little bit of narrow- ness in this advice. The wisdom was apparent, and he would not have insisted on the Indian turban except out of patriotism; the slighting reference to the waiter betrayed a kind of narrowness. Amongst the indentured Indians there were three classes — Hindus, Musalmans and Christians. The last were the children of indentured Indians who became converts to Christianity. Even in 1893 their number was large. They wore the English costume, and the majority of them earned their living by service as waiters in hotels. Abdulla Sheth’s criticism of the English hat was with reference to this class. It was considered degrading to serve as a waiter in a hotel. The belief persists even today among many.
On the whole I liked Abdulla Sheth’ about the incident and defended the wearing of my turban in the court. The ‘question was very much discussed in the papers, which described me as an ‘unwelcome visitor’. Thus the incident gave me an unexpected advertisement in South Africa within a few days of my arrival there. Some supported me while others severely criticized my temerity.
s advice. I wrote to the press My turban stayed with me practically until the end of my stay in South Africa. When and why I left off wearing any head-dress at all in South Africa, we shall see later.
VII ON THE WAY TO PRETORIA 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 Mr. James God- frey, 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 about the same time. All these friends, who up to then had never met one another except on business, came ulti- mately 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 ABC 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 questions 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 Ani the case for,which I had come to South Africa was Mainly about accounts. Only one who knew accounts could under- stand 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 Tevealed my ignorance to the clerk, and learnt from him that a . Note meant a promissory note. I purchased a book on book-keeping and studied it. That gave me some confidence. I understood the case. I saw ec a E Sheth, who did not know how to keep accounts, ad so much practical knowledge that he could quickly solve intri- Cacies of book-keeping. I told him that I was prepared to go to Tetoria. ‘Where will you put up?’ ‘Wherever you want me to,’ sa : i zi for your lodg- Th write to our lawyer. He w ill arrange y g ings. wei ae write to my Meman friends there, but I would not advise you to stay with them. The other party has great influence in Pretoria. Should any one of them manage to read our private 79 asked the Sheth. id I.
80 MY EXPERIMENTS: WITH TRUTH 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 any- thing that is confidential between us. But I do intend cultivating 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 anything.’
‘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 a bedding. Abdulla Sheth insisted that I should book one bedding but, out of obstinacy and pride and with a view to saving 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.’
‘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?
/ ON THE WAY TO PRETORIA 81 ‘No, you won’t,’ said the official. ‘You must leave this compart- ment, 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 hand-bag 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 over-coat 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 ent and possibly wanted to talk to me. But I was in no mood o 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.
eet of the railway au ee ren G already instructed the Station Master i 1 destination safely. Abdulla Sheth wired to the Indian merchants in Mari iends in other places to meet me and look RETEN a D came to see me at the station and tried to Comfort me by narrating their own 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.
Ix MORE HARDSHIPS The train reached Charlestown in the morning. There was no railway, in those days, between Charlestown and Johannesburg, but only a stage-coach, which halted at Standerton for the night en route. I possessed a ticket for the coach, which was not cancelled by the break of the journey at Maritzburg for a day; besides, Abdulla Sheth had sent a wire to the coach agent at Charlestown.
But the agent only needed a pretext for putting me off, and so, when he discovered me to be a stranger, he said, ‘ Your ticket is cancelled. I gave him the proper reply. The reason at the back of his mind was not want of accommodation, but quite another. Passen- gers had to be accommodated inside the coach, but as I was regarded as a ‘coolie’ and looked a stranger, it would be proper, thought the’ ‘leader’, as the white man in charge of the coach was called, not to seat me with the white passengers. There were seats on either side of the coachbox. The leader sat on one of these as a rule. Today he sat inside and gave me his seat. I knew it was sheer injustice and an insult, but I thought it better to pocket it. I could not have forced myself inside, and if I had raised a protest, the coach would have gone off without me. This would have meant the loss of another day, and Heaven only knows what would have happened the next day. So, much as I fretted within myself, I prudently sat next the coachman.
At about three o’clock the coach reached Pardekoph. Now the leader desired to sit where I was seated, as he wanted to smoke and possibly to have some fresh air. So he took a piece of dirty sack-cloth from the driver, spread it on the footboard and, addressing me said, © Sami, you sit on this, I want to sit near the driver.’ The insult was more than I could bear. In fear and trembling I said to him, ‘It was you who seated me here, though I should have been accom- modated inside. I put up with the insult. Now that you want to sit outside and smoke, you would have me sit at your feet. I will not do so, but I am prepared to sit inside.’
As I was struggling through these sentences, the man came down upon me and began heavily to box my ears. He seized me by the arm and tried to drag me down. I clung to the brass rails of the coachbox and was determined to keep my hold even at the risk of breaking my wristbones. The passengers were witnessing the scene — the man swearing at me, dragging and belabouring me, and I remaining still. He was strong and I was weak. Some of the passen- Ce were moved to pity and exclaimed: ‘Man, let him alone. Don’t ag him. He is not to blame. He is right. If he can’t stay there, et him come and sit with us.’ ‘No fear,’ cried the man, but he seemed somewhat crestfallen and stopped beating me. He let go my 82 MORE HARDSHIPS 83 arm, swore at me a little more, and asking the Hottentot servant who was sitting on the other side of the coachbox to sit on the footboard, took the seat so vacated.
The passengers took their seats and, the whistle given, the coach rattled away. My heart was beating fast within my breast, and I was wondering whether I should ever reach my destination alive. The man cast an angry look at me now and then and, pointing his finger at me, growled: ‘Take care, let me once get to Standerton and I shall show you what I do. I sat speechless and prayed to God to help me.: After dark we reached Standerton and I heaved a sigh of relief on seeing some Indian faces. As soon as I got down, these friends said: ‘We are here to receive you and take you to Isa Sheth’s shop. We have had a telegram from Dada Abdulla.” I was very glad, and we went to Sheth Isa Haji Sumar’s shop. The Sheth and his clerks gathered round me. I told them all that I had gone through. They were very sorry to hear it and comforted me by relating to me their own bitter experiences.
I wanted to: inform the agent of the Coach Company of the whole affair, So I wrote him a letter, narrating everything that had hap- pened, and drawing his attention to the threat his man had held out. I also asked for an assurance that he would accommodate me with the other passengers inside the coach when we started the next morning. To which the agent replied to this effect: ‘From th different men in charge.
Standerton we have a bigger coach wi: ot be there tomorrow, and you will he man complained of will n have a seat with the other passengers.” This somewhat relieved me. I ding against the man who had had, o intention of procee' Eea ‘sa a the chapter of the assault closed there.
In i Isa Sheth’s man took me to the coach, I gota good bomen ert Johannesburg quite Y Eom am e Sta i mall village and Johannesburg a big city. alla Ae ae ae Johannesburg also, and given ae the rame and address of Muhammad Kasam Kamruddin’s firm e: eir man had come to receive me at the stage, put neither did I see him nor did he recognize me. 8° I decided to g0 to a hotel. I knew the Names of several. Taking 2 cab I asked to be driven to the Grand National Hotel. I saw the Manager and asked for a room. He eyed me for a moment; and politely saying, I am ee sony, we ace full up’, bade me good-bye. So I asked the ca man He tive to Muhammad Kasam Kamruddin’s shop. Here I foun bdul Gani Sheth expecting Me, and he gave me a cordial greeting. He had a hearty laugh over the story of my experience a te ppt How ever did you expect to be admitted to a hotel?’ he said.
W 2? I asked. hy not after you have stayed here a few days,’ wee Ws can live in a land like this, because, for making 84 MY EXPERIMENTS WITH TRUTH money, we do not mind pocketing insults, and here we are.’ With this he narrated to me the story of the hardships of Indians in South Africa.
Of Sheth Abdul Gani we shall know more as we proceed.
He said: ‘This country is not for men like you. Look now, you have to go to Pretoria tomorrow. You will have to travel third class. Conditions in the Transvaal are worse than in Natal. First and second class tickets are never issued to Indians.’
“You cannot have made persistent efforts in this direction.’
‘We have sent representations, but I confess our own men too do not want as a rule to travel first or second.’
I sent for the railway regulations and read them. There was a loophole. The language of the old Transvaal enactments was not very exact or precise; that of the railway regulations was even less so.
I said to the Sheth: ‘I wish to go first class, and if I cannot, I shall prefer to take a cab to Pretoria, a matter of only thirty-seven miles.’
Sheth Abdul Gani drew my attention to the extra time and money this would mean, but agreed to my proposal to travel first, and accordingly we sent a note to the Station Master. I mentioned in my note that I was a barrister and that I always travelled first. I also stated in the letter that I needed to reach Pretoria as early as possible, that as there was no time to await his reply I would receive it in person at the station, and that I should expect to get a first class ticket. There was of course a purpose behind asking for the reply in person. I thought that if the Station Master gave a written reply, he would certainly say ‘no’, especially because he would have his own notion of a ‘coolie’ barrister. I would there- fore appear before him in faultless English dress, talk to him and possibly persuade him to issue a first class ticket. So I went to the station in a frock-coat and necktie, placed a sovereign for my fare on the counter and asked for a first class ticket.
“You sent me that note?’ he asked.
‘That is so. I shall be much obliged if you will give me a ticket. I must reach Pretoria today.’
He smiled and, moved to pity, said: ‘I am not a Transvaaler. Iam a Hollander. I appreciate your feelings, and you have my sym- pathy. I do want to give you a ticket — on one condition, however, that, if the guard should ask you to shift to the third class, you will not involve me in the affair, by which I mean that you should not proceed against the Railway Company. I wish you a safe . journey. I can see you are a gentleman.’
_With these words he booked the ticket. I thanked him and gave him the necessary assurance.
FIRST DAY IN PRETORIA 85 _ Sheth Abdul Gani had come to see me off at the station. The incident gave him an agreeable surprise, but he warned me saying: ‘I shall be thankful if you reach Pretoria all right. I am afraid the guard will not leave you in peace in the first class and even if he does, the passengers will not.’
I took my seat in a first class compartment and the train started. At Germiston the guard came to examine the tickets. He was angry to find me there, and signalled to me with his finger to go to the third class. I showed him my first class ticket. ‘That doesn’t matter,’ said he, ‘remove to the third class.’