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 application 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 Mahomedan 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 he profession.
I was torn with these doubts and anxieties 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 I
had no right to trouble such a great man for an
interview. Whenever an address by him was announced, I
would attend it, listen to him from a corner of the hall,
and go away after having feasting my eyes and ears. In
order to come in close touch with the students he had
founded an association, I used to attend its meeting, and
rejoiced at Dadabhai's solicitude for the students, and
the latter's respect for him in course of time I mustered
up courage to present to him the note of introduction. He
said: 'You can come and have my advice whenever you
like.' But I never availed myself of his offer. I thought
it wrong to trouble him without the most pressing
necessity. Therefore I dared not venture to accept my
friend's advice 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? Pherozeshahs skill to be an
ordinary lawyer. Common honesty and industry are enough
to enable him to make a living. All cases are not
complicated. 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 understand 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, but 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.
I was extremely grateful to this venerable friend. In
his presence I found all my fear gone, 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 Lavator's book and found it more difficult
than Snell's Equity, and scarcely interesting. I
studied Shakespeare's physiognomy, but did not acquire
the knack of finding out the Shakespeares walking up and
down the streets of London.
Lavator's book did not add to my knowledge. Mr.
Pincutt's advice did me very little direct service, but
his kindliness stood me in good stead. His smiling open
face stayed in my memory, and I trusted his advice that
Pherozeshah Mehta's acumen, memory and ability were not
essential to the making of a successful lawyer; honesty
and industry were enough. And as I had a fair share of
these last I felt somewhat reassured.
I could not read Kaye and Malleson's volumes in
England, but I did so in South Africa as I had made a
point of reading them at the first opportunity.
Thus with just a little leaven of hope mixed with my
despair, I landed at Bombay from S.S. Assam. The
sea was rough in the harbour, and I had to reach the quay
in a launch.
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