ROBINHOOD OF KATHIAWAR AND OTHER EXTRAORDINARY STORIES FROM INDIA’S FREEDOM MOVEMENT
BOOK REVIEW
Ordinarily, I am not given to emotions. But the extraordinary stories this extraordinary book narrates moistened my eyes a lot frequently. The book has fifty chapters, the last of which pays tribute to the Gandhian legacy. The rest of the chapters however, tell the stories of people who chose a non-Gandhian path to fight for our country’s freedom, that of violence, and of some other remarkable ways too. It is a well-known fact that India’s freedom from colonialism came about by the cumulative effect of multiple factors, although the Gandhian non-violent struggle gained predominance in popular perception. While the stellar role played by the Indian National Army of Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose and the catalytic impact of the Indian Army turning Britain’s Frankenstein’s monster, accentuated by the Royal Indian Navy Mutiny of 1946, do find their place in some historical narratives, the tales of the scores of revolutionaries, who often sacrificed their lives in the cause of freedom, largely remain forgotten, except, maybe, an odd instance of that of Shahid Bhagat Singh. The authors, an elite team of seven writers under the banner of ‘The Paperclip’, an avant-garde digital media platform, have produced a landmark historical work, through apparently formidable, globetrotting research, illuminating the untold stories of men and women who gave their all, often including their lives, for the country’s freedom.
There is the incredible story of a valorous last stand by a bunch of revolutionaries, who had hatched an audacious plot to overthrow the British colonial regime in early 1900s by precipitating simultaneous revolts in Bengal, Burma (now Myanmar) and Siam (now Thailand). Cornered by an overwhelming police force in the lush green forest surrounding the railway station of a nondescript town on the Odisha-Bengal border of today, they made a gallant last stand that would have made any army proud. Armed only with a few Mauser Pistols against the heavy weaponry of their opponents, they indeed lost the fight, all of them being killed, wounded or captured, but by their act of defiance, inspired an entire generation of Indians to choose the path of revolution. The British officer leading the police force couldn’t help admiring their courage that he took off his hat beside dead body of the group’s fiery leader ‘Bagha Jatin’ and later wrote ‘If he were in a free country, he would be the first general of a nation. I have met the bravest Indian and I have high regard for him.’
Then there is the iconic story of the Chittagong liberation raid by a group of revolutionaries led by the undaunted freedom fighter Surya Sen aka Master Da. Cutting off telegraphic and rail communications of the port town with the rest of India, the group took control of two armouries and various other government establishments and went on to declare independence of the country under the ‘Provisional Revolutionary Government’, operating under the ‘Indian Republican Army’, raising the Indian National Flag. However, lacking firepower with no machine guns and out of ammunition for their rifles, the 60-strong group stood no chance against the British Army and had to make a strategic retreat to Jalalabad Hills to find a safe haven. Besieged in the forests of Jalalabad, the group fought a last-ditch battle, unprecedented in scale since the First War of Independence in 1857, when they stood their ground, equipped with obsolete muzzle-loading muskets against .303 rifles and machine guns of the British Army, repulsing one attack after another. Inevitably, the valiant fighters were cut down one by one and with most of the group down, Master Da was forced to withdraw, the remaining members scattering into the forested hills of Jalalabad. The hunt for Master Da went on relentlessly, the British offering huge monetary awards for tips on his whereabouts. In a hair-raising incident when the British forces surrounded a house where the leader had found refuge, he escaped in a daring bid, killing a British officer. Eventually, the inherent Indian story of betrayal unfolded, when a greedy relative of his tipped off the police and he was arrested. The treachery did not go unpunished though, as one of his followers promptly murdered the traitor. Master Da, before being hanged, had the satisfaction to learn of the extreme heights of loyalty and patriotism he had instilled in his followers. The wife of the traitor, the sole witness to the murder, refused to reveal the identity of the killer, boldly telling the police that she knew who killed her husband but would not name him, even if they arrested and hanged her. Master Da was so touched that he blessed the woman, stating that she was the real hero and not him.
There were plenty of women freedom fighters too, some of them outstandingly brave. The chapter of the book ‘The Curious Case of an Eighty-Year-Old Mistake’ tells the stories of two such women. One was Bina Das, a 21-year-old girl who was to receive her degree on graduation during the convocation ceremony at the Senate Hall of the Calcutta University on 6 February 1932. Bina, however, had a grander plan for the day; to assassinate Sir Stanley Jackson, the Governor of Bengal, the Chief Guest at the ceremony. Driven by a passion to exact revenge for the brutality meted out by the police to her elder sister and dedicated freedom fighter, Kalyani, and her fellow freedom fighters, Bina took it up on herself to take the leading role in the assassination plotted by a revolutionary group by being the shooter. Jackson had begun delivering his welcome address when Bina pulled out her hidden revolver and aimed it at him. Unfortunately, her attempt was thwarted by the Vice-Chancellor of the University, who lunged at her. Although she did manage to squeeze off five shots, her aim distracted, Jackson escaped unhurt. Convicted for attempted murder, she was sentenced to nine years’ rigorous imprisonment, and spent seven years of those in jail, until her release in 1939, when Gandhiji secured the release of all political prisoners. Later, she joined the non-violent struggle and was jailed again for three years for her participation in the Quit India Movement. Post-independence, she remained in politics and social activism for a couple of years. She married a freedom fighter in 1948 and the couple declined the freedom fighters’ pension offered by the government. Eventually, they quit politics and faded from public memory over the years, Bina’s university degree, which the Calcutta University had withheld at the time of her arrest, remaining forgotten.
Parallel to the story of Bina Das is the one of Pritilata Waddedar. Of the same age and equally imbibed with revolutionary spirit as Bina, she too was to receive her degree at the convocation wherein Bina opened fire on the governor. Although it’s not known whether the two were associated, Pritilata, born in Chittagong, had a history of being involved in revolutionary activities and the university withheld her degree too. Her tryst with destiny would come later, when she joined Master Da Surya Sen’s group in its attack on the British establishments in Chittagong. She survived the encounter at Jalalabad and was assigned the leadership of a daring mission by Master Da while he was in hiding – to raid the Chittagong Pahartali European Club. Although the raid caused panic and mayhem, killing or injuring several of the British, eventually the police succeeded in overpowering the raiders. Pritilata put up a valiant fight, covering the escape of her comrades and when capture became imminent, took her own life by consuming a vial of potassium cyanide, to earn herself, in all probability, the glory of being the first woman martyr in India’s freedom struggle.
The story of these two women revolutionaries had a happy ending of sorts when, prodded by an educational trust of Chittagong, the Calcutta University awarded their withheld degrees in 2012 to them, albeit posthumously, 80 years after they were due.
Each of the 50 stories the book carries is awe-inspiring. However, not all of them are of hotblooded revolutionaries and violent encounters, but the common thread of fierce patriotism runs through all of them. Some chose unique paths to challenge the colonial might through innovative and enterprising ways. There is the story of Nagendra Prasad Sarbadhikari, who is considered the ‘founding father of Indian football’ who promoted the game among the Bengali youth with such intense zeal, forming clubs, that within a few years one of them did the unthinkable beating a British Army team. Sundari Mohan, a brilliant doctor who, joining the Swadeshi movement, left his flourishing job at the British-run Calcutta Medical College as part of boycotting everything British and established the Swadeshi-backed National Medical Institute, was not just a patriot but a social reformer who defied the social norms by marrying a widow. Laxmanrao Kirloskar, who began with a humble farmer’s plough in a small town called Kundal in today’s Maharashtra, ended up as one of the champions of India’s own industrial revolution. Lalmohan Ghose became the first Indian to run for a seat in the British parliament, long before Rishi Sunak made it to 10 Downing Street.
Although freedom fighters from all over India figure in the stories, lion share of them are about Bengali revolutionaries, for the apparent reason that Bengal was the hotbed of anti-colonial revolution, and to an extent for the fact that most members of the Paperclip team hail from Bengal. Nevertheless, they have made a conscious effort to include stories from across the length and breadth of the country. The title of the book ‘Robinhood of Kathiawar’ itself is an adaptation of the title of the hair-raising story of a legendary folk hero of Kathiawar region, Kadu Makrani, who fought the British hammer and tongs for so long that they branded him a bandit, although he was a benevolent saviour to his people. Born Qadir Bukhsh Rind Baloch, in Makran, Baluchistan, he migrated to Kathiawar and turned a rebel, eventually to be betrayed by a compatriot and captured. Executed in Karachi Central Jail, he is probably one of the few revolutionaries on whom movies have been made both in India and Pakistan. The book also carries the story of the South Indian shipping magnate ‘VOC’ V.O. Chidambaram Pillai, who challenged the maritime hegemony of the British by launching the Swadeshi Steam Navigation Company. A diehard patriot for whom the shipping company was more of an expression of his defiance of the British than a profiteering concern, he was driven to penury by the vengeful British who destroyed his business, but remained steadfast to the cause of freedom until he breathed his last. The book also features the amazing story of Dr. K.B. Menon, a Harvard Scholar who master-minded a bomb attack on government establishments in Malabar.
Strangely, three of the outstanding stories of the freedom struggle from the South do not feature in the book, maybe because they are comparatively well known. The first one of those is that of Chempakaraman Pillai, who is credited to have coined the greetings ‘Jai Hind’ when a schoolboy, and later pursuing higher education in Europe, turned a firebrand activist for India’s freedom, raising the Indian National Volunteer Corps during the First World War, the forerunner of Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose’s INA. Subsequently, joining the Indian Independence League of Indian expats in Berlin, he was appointed the Foreign Affairs Minister of the Provisional Government of India established by Indian Revolutionaries in Kabul under Raja Mahendra Prasad. Continuing to live in Germany after the war, he joined the Nazi party during its ascendancy in the 1930s to promote the cause of Indian independence, but soon fell out with them after he exacted an apology from Hitler for his disparaging remarks about Indians. Persecuted, and allegedly subjected to gradual poisoning, by the Nazis for slighting their ‘Fuhrer,’ he moved to Italy where he died in 1934 in a nondescript nursing home. Indeed, his Manipur-born wife, Lakshmibai, succeeded in fulfilling his last wish to sail home in a free India’s warship, when the Indian Navy Cruiser, INS Delhi, flying India’s National Flag, carried his ashes from Bombay to Cochin after 32 years in 1966 for its onward journey by road to his home town in Kanyakumari, where it was immersed in the Indian Ocean with full state honours.
Equally mesmerizing is the story of Padmanabha Pillai, the boyhood buddy of Chempakaraman. A scientist by inclination and considered India’s first arachnologist, he followed the footsteps of his friend to Europe, assisted and encouraged by Walter William Strickland, an English Baron-turned-naturalist and outspoken anti-imperialist liberal, often referred to as the ’Anarchist Baronet.’ No less than his friend in patriotic fervour, he too participated in myriad movements afoot in Europe for India’s freedom, their paths converging when Padmanabha joined the government in exile in Kabul to take on the task of propagating the government’s policies and enlisting men to foment a rebellion in India, He succeeded in raising a 12,000-strong army of Afridi tribesmen. Post-war, hunted by the British Secret Service along with other revolutionaries, Padmanabha met his gory end when his British assassins cornered him aboard the ship he was sailing home, and threw him overboard in the high seas of the Malacca Strait, putting an abrupt end to his patriotic saga.
The third sensational story is that of Vanchinatha Iyer, a 25-year-old youth of Shenkottai in today’s southern Tamil Nadu, who shot dead, Robet William d’Escourt Ashe, the Collector of Tirunelveli District of the then-Madras Presidency, at point blank range in broad daylight at Maniachi Railway Station on 17 June 1911. Fiercely patriotic, Vanchinathan had sworn to kill Ashe to send a message to King George V of England, who was to visit India to celebrate his crowning, that he cannot enslave this sacred land. A short while later, the shooter who had bolted after the killing, was found dead in the lavatory of the station, having shot himself through the mouth. The Belgian-made Browning automatic pistol he carried was found empty – it was loaded with only two rounds, one for Ashe and one for himself. The motive of the murder was surmised to have been linked to the political upheaval that shook Tirunelveli three years ago in 1908, following the partition of Bengal in 1905, which was headed by the firebrand freedom fighter VOC. Robert Ashe was instrumental in putting down the upheaval. The investigation came up with a conspiracy theory involving 16 individuals including VOC and Poet-Patriot Subramania Bharathi, of which only 14 could be served warrant since the remaining two were living in the French territory of Pondicherry. The sensational, 93-day trial at the Madras High Court ended in the conviction of all 14 who were meted out sentences varying from a couple of years to seven years, although the decision of the 3-judge bench was not unanimous, with Justice C. Shankaran Nair dissenting. Sankara Nair is, of course, best known for his legal battle in London against Sir Michael O’Dwyer, the infamous Governor of Punjab who presided over the Jallianwala Massacre of 1919. But then that’s another story. Vanchinathan himself is remembered only by a memorial built by the Government of Tamil Nadu for the zealous nationalist at his native town of Shenkottai and the Maniachi Railway Station renamed as Vanchi Maniachi Junction.
I felt it relevant to include these three stories as addendum to this review, since they eminently deserved to be with the rest of the stories in the book. Interested readers may read these stories in full, as penned by me after due research, by clicking on the following links:
Chempakaraman Pillai: https://www.coloursofglory.org/chempakaraman-pillai/
Padmanabha Pillai: https://www.coloursofglory.org/murder-on-the-high-seas/
Vanchinatha Iyer: https://www.coloursofglory.org/vanchinatha-iyer/
Notwithstanding the anomaly of the three missed stories, The Paperclip Team deserves to be lauded for their phenomenal work in presenting the fifty stories that ‘Robinhood of Kathiawar and Other Extraordinary Stories from India’s Freedom Movement’ carries. Way back in mid-1900s, when I was a student, we used to have what was called a ‘Non-Detailed Text’ in our language curriculum. It was usually an outstanding literary work, which students loved to read over and over again. I remember reading George Bernard Shaw’s ‘Pygmalion’ fifty times. I sincerely wish our universities find the wisdom to accord such a status to this book, so that these stories of courage and sacrifice, of what our earlier generation paid for the freedom we enjoy, are passed down generations. Kudos to The Paperclip.
Robinhood and Other Extraordinary Stories from India’s Freedom Movement
The Paperclip
Harper Non-Fiction, An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers
348 Pages, Rs.499.00
