XXIV. HOMEWARD
By now I had been three years in South Africa. I had
got to know the people and they had got to know me. In
1896 I asked permission to go home for six months, for I
saw that I was in for a long stay there. I had
established a fairly good practice, and could see that
people felt the need of my presence. So I made up my mind
to go home, fetch my wife and children, and then return
and settle out there. I also saw that, if I went home, I
might be able to do there some public work by educating
public opinion and creating more interest in the Indians
of South Africa. The ?3 tax was an open sore. There
could be no peace until it was abolished.
But who was to take charge of the Congress work and
Education Society in my absence? I could think of two men
Adamji Miyakhan and Parsi Rustomji. There were many
workers now available from the commercial class. But the
foremost among those who could fulfil the duties of the
secretary by regular work, and who also commanded the
regard of the Indian community, were these two. The
secretary certainly needed a working knowledge of
English. I recommended the late Adamji Miyakhan's name to
the Congress, and it approved of his appointment as
secretary. Experience showed that the choice was a very
happy one. Adamji Miyakhan satisfied all with his
perseverance, liberality, amiability and courtesy, and
proved to every one that the secretary's work did not
require a man with a barrister's degree or high English
education.
About the middle of 1896 I sailed for home in the s.
s. Pongola which was bound for Calcutta.
There were very few passengers on board. Among them
were two English oficers, with whom I came in close
contact. With one of them I used to play chess for an
hour daily. The ship's doctor gave me a Tamil Self-
Teacher which I began to study. My experience in
Natal had shown me that I should acquire a knowledge of
Urdu to get into closer contact with the Musalmans, and
of Tamil to get into closer touch with the Madras
Indians.
At the request of the English friend, who read Urdu
with me, I found out a good Urdu Munshi from amongst he
deck passengers, and we made excellent progress in our
studies. The officer had a better memory than I. He would
never forget a word after once he had seen it; I often
found it difficult to decipher Urdu letters. I brought
more perseverance to bea, but could never overtake the
officer.
With Tamil I made fair progress. There was no help
available, but the Tamil Self-Teacher was
well-written book, and I did not feel in need of much
outside help.
I had hoped to continue these studies even after
reaching India, but it was impossible. Most of my reading
since 1893 has been done in jail. I did make some
progress in Tamil and Urdu, in jails - Tamil in South
African jails, and Urdu in Yeravda jail. But I never
learnt to speak Tamil, and the little I could do by way
of reading is now rusting away for want of practice.
I still feel what a handicap this ignorance of Tamil
or Telugu has been. The affection that the Dravidians in
South Africa showered on me has remained a cherished
memory. Whenever I see a Tamil or Telugu friend, I cannot
but recall the faith, perseverance and selfless sacrifice
of many of his compatriots in South Africa. And they were
mostly illiterate, the men no less than the women. The
fight in South Africa was for such, and it was fought by
illiterate soldiers; it was for the poor, and the poor
took their full share in it. Ignorance of their language,
however, was never a handicap to me in stealing the
hearts of these simple and good countrymen. They spoke
broken Hindustani or broken English, and we found no
difficulty in getting on with our work. But I wanted to
requite their affection by learning Tamil and Telugu. In
Tamil as I have said, I made some little progress, but in
Telugu, which I tried to learn in India, I did not get
beyond the alphabet. I fear now I can never learn these
languages, and am therefore hoping that the Dravidians
will learn Hindustani. The non-english-speaking among
them in South Africa do speak Hindi or Hindustani,
however indifferently. It is only the English-speaking
ones who will not learn it, as though a knowledge of
English were an obstacle to learning our own languages.
But I have digressed. Let me finish the narrative of
my voyage. I have to introduce to my readers the Captain
of the s.s. Poongola. We had become friends. The
good Captain was a Plymouth Brother. Our talks were more
about spiritual subjects than nautical. He drew a line
between morality and faith. The teaching of the Bible was
to him child's play. Its beauty lay in its simplicity.
Let all, men, women and children, he would say, have
faith in Jesus and his sacrifice, and their sins were
sure to be redeemed. This friend revived my memory of the
Plymouth Brother of Pretoria. The religion that imposed
any moral restrictions was of the whole of this
discussion. Why should I not eat meat, or for that matter
beef? Had not god created all the lower animals for the
enjoyment of mankind as, for instance, he had created the
vegetable kingdom? These questions inevitably drew us
into religious discussion.
We could not convince each other. I was confirmed in
my opinion that religion and morality were synonymous.
The Captain had no doubt about the correctness of his
opposite conviction.
At the end of twenty-four days the pleasant voyage
came to a close, and admiring the beauty of the Hooghly,
I landed at Calcutta. The same day I took the train for
Bombay.
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