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 applications 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 observed. 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, unanswerable. '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 barrister 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 commissions 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.
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
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 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 appointment 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 stiffen him. 'Surely you have not come
here to abuse that acquaintance, have you?' appeared to
be the meaning of that stiffness, and seemed to be
written on his brow. 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.'
'But please hear me out,' said I. That made him more
angry. He called his peon and ordered him to show me the
door. I was still hesitating when the peon came in,
placed his hands on my shoulders and put me out of the
room.
The sahib went away as also the peon, and I
departed, fretting 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:
'You were rude to me. I asked you to go and you would
not. I had no option but to order my peon to show you the
door. Even after he asked you to leave the office, you
did not do so. He therefore 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 crest
fallen, 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. 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
been guilty of a breach of that determination. This shock
changed the course of my life.
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