'Chale jao; Chale jao!"
HENRY slept soundly that night. When he woke, the glow of elation, of being equal to the situation, was still with him. At last he was coming to grips with what had so far been only a haunting shadow-a show-down with labour; and he, Henry Winton, pro- duct of an English public school and trained under a man like Sir Jeffrey Dart, was facing the challenge. He did not have the least doubt that his side would win.
The pity of it was that it had so little to do with labour itself. Labour was merely the ammunition, highly expendable. Both sides in the battle stood well back; it was the labourers who took all the punishment illiterate, order-obeying, easily-swayed creatures with the simple minds of children. The other side hit at you through the labourers, and you hit back twice as hard, not at them, but at the labourers. Your success depended on how hard you hit at the labourers.
Henry knew has coolies as a schoolmaster knows his pupils and he knew most of them by name. He knew their failings and their good qualities. He knew exactly what sort of argument would appeal to them; he knew how easily they could be swayed by the rhetoric of such a man as Jugal Kishore, and he knew the precise antidote to that rhetoric. For a moment, for a brief moment only.
he felt distressed by the thought of the punishment his labourers were going to have to take in the coming battle, but he quickly shook away the thought. This was war, and in war you could not afford to feel sorry for those who were ranged against you.
By seven o'clock, Henry was on his rounds, savouring the heady glow of a new purpose. All the bottled up rage of the past few weeks had found an outlet. The one tusker, Jugal Kishore, Eddie Trevor, even Jean Walters and Ruby Miranda were merely figures in the background; his anger had found a higher, more worthy target. The strike was something he could get his teeth into; the challenge of the brown, menacing world of labour, the challenge of India itself.
Henry was almost glad when he read the poster which was stuck to his gatepost:
GET RID OF TREVOR
WINTON! OR GO HOME!
Similar posters, both in English and Hindi, had been put up on most of the buildings and on prominent landmarks. In his present frame of mind, it was an oddly satisfying experience to be singled out for so much collective denouncement.
Between two and three hundred coolies had struck work; there was no way of telling exactly how many till he had all the roll-calls in his hands. Many of the strikers were standing in the courtyard outside the main office buildings. In the centre, standing hand in hand with a boy of about seventeen, was an old enemy: Gauri. As Henry came close to the office gate, one of them stepped forward and shouted. 'Are we going to stand for Trevor?"
'Never, never!' came from the others a little uncertainly. Some of the coolies were laughing as they shouted 'Never, never!" and Henry realized that this was because they had no idea what the words meant. He stood in their nudst and turned to look at their faces, making a mental note of their names. There they stood, the brown, earthy men and women, already looking dazed and be wildered, but keeping up a pretence of careless defiance under his stare. They were his enemies now. It was difficult to think of some of them as his enemies.
It was only when he turned his back that they began shouting once again, 'Are we going to stand for Trevor?"
'Never, never!'
'Never, never! Never, never! NEER, NEVER! their shouts followed him as he turned from the gate, and he could dis tinctly hear Gauri's piercing voice leading them, 'Never, never! NEVER, NEVER!"
Henry continued his daily rounds as though nothing had hap pened, as though nothing was happening; and to underline his complete lack of fear, he did not carry even his usual Malacca walking-stick with him. A check round the garden showed him that two hundred and seventy-eight coolies had not turned up for work. That would mean that nearly two-hundred and sixty were on strike, the remaining eighteen could be accounted for by those who might be sick. He was relieved that the number of strikers was relatively small-if only for the reason that it would make his job less distasteful.
In the storage sheds he ran into Eddie Trevor, surrounded by piles of baskets and coils of rope and pick-axes and shovels and empty boxes, looking cheerful and quite at home. He was wearing a khaki suit and thick, rubber-soled boots, and he appeared already to have taken full charge of his duties, for he was busy with the registers, and Patiram, his assistant, was leaning over his shoulder, explaining the entries to him.
How many of your men have reported for work?" Henry asked Patiram, speaking in Hindi.
Nine have come, sir, Trevor told him. 'Only one absent. Jugal Kishore's nephew."
'Oh,' said Henry, 'I see you're trying to learn the job."
"Yes, sir,' said Trevor, 'right from scratch.
Let me know if anything out of the way happens, will you?" said Henry to Patiram, again speaking in Hindi. Yes, sir, answered Trevor. Then he added, 'What a lot of trouble I seem to have caused."
'I expect it will sort itself out,' answered Henry.
'Begging your pardon, sir,' said Trevor, 'would you like me to come to the office to... er, help out with...
'No! sald Henry with a withering look. He had not felt the slightest resentment while talking to Trevor who had been the cause of it all; only a slight irritation at the somewhat over-zealous assumption of responsibility, the suggestion of cockiness. But there was no bitterness in him; somehow he already felt quite detached from yesterday and all the days before, wrenched away from his own weaknesses, completely free and light, as though stripped for action. A man, at last, he told himself. A man.
Hungry for breakfast, he went up to his bungalow and sat down to eggs and bacon and buttered toast, and read the Statesman. When he removed the lid from the jam-jar, he noticed that it was filled with some fresh jam.
What jam is this?" Henry asked the head boy.
'Guava jam, sahib. School miss-sahib sent."
"Oh,' said Henry, putting the lid back. He sat at the table for a long time, smoking his pipe and thinking out his moves coolly, weighing the risks, deciding on his plan of action. It was wonderful to be in the midst of things happening. where all the responsibility rested squarely on your own shoulders; you were the man on the spot. It was only by the men on the spot, acting on their own initiative in emergencies such as this one, that the Empire had been built up. Henry felt supremely confident, equal to the tasks that faced him. He picked up the jam-jar, walked to the window and hurled it deep into the valley. The action somehow sealed his new mood of independence.
As he walked back to the office after breakfast, he saw the two police vans standing in the drive, and a turbaned police inspector was waiting for him in the verandah. When he reached the main gate, the strikers standing in the courtyard again took up their chant:
Chale jao; Chale jao! Winton sahib chale jao! Are we going to stand for Trevor? Never, never!
The police inspector saluted him as he climbed the steps, and Henry told him to come into his office to discuss their plans. He was a fat, round-faced Bengali with a drooping. Kas-lung moustache and bulging, opaque eyes.
How many men have you brought with you?' asked Henry.
"Twenty-four, sir,' answered the inspector.
'Good! Do you think you'll be able to tackle this thing?" The inspector nodded his head confidently. 'Yes, sir."
'How?"
'We bheel habh to separate the leaders farst; round up the leaders and break up the crowd beeth a lathi-charge...."
"You mean beat them up?"
The inspector nodded with assurance. The lathis are stadded, sir."
'And what will you do with the leaders?'
We take them to the thana and we beat them up there; we habh better faceelities at the thana. Like most Indians, the inspector was inclined to lengthen all his vowels and to pronounce his 'v's' with a 'bh' sound. There was a cold, empty feeling in Henry's stomach. He had heard of some of the special refinements of torture indulged in by the police in India; it was said that given three days to work on their man, they could extort a confession of murder from anyone they chose. I suppose it is necessary to make some sort of an example, Henry said. 'But can't we manage with a little less violence? I should like to talk to them, first, instead of lathi-charging. Baat, talking no good, sir, the inspector protested. 'Not beeth coolies. They habh to see blaad."
No, there was going to be no blood, if he could help it. He cer- tainly had no mind to let the inspector have a free hand with his coalies.
'Look, you round up the ringleaders and take them away and do what you like with them. But I want to talk to the others and see if they will disperse quietly. Let's have no bloodshed here if we can help it." As your honour orders.' said the policeman. Then he asked. 'Baat do you know the leaders, sir?"
Oh, yes, I will help you to round up the leaders. I suppose they deserve what is coming to them."
Yes, sir, the inspector said, nodding his head slowly in approval. We habh our ways. They weel nebher go on strike again."
Henry felt a cold finger being drawn along his spine as he watched the policeman's eyes, lifeless and permanently half-closed, like the eyes of a dead man. His greasy, flat-nosed face reminded Henry of the face of some primitive carving: an image representing evil and uncleanness. Henry looked quickly away. This is what I propose to do, he said. 'At first we will... Oh, my God! What's the meaning of that?" he exclaimed.
Outside, the mob at the gate had begun to shout once again:
Jus tice! Mister Trevor! Never, never! We want! Justice!
Henry went to the window which overlooked the gate and the courtyard just in time to see Sir Jeffrey's long grey Daimler turning through the gate.
'Damn!' exclaimed Henry. 'Oh, damn, damn, damn!" and went rushing out to receive his Resident Director, Sudden came hurrying in, wearing a thick brown Harris tweed suit and a green pork-pie bat; round his middle he wore a canvas belt from which hung an extra-large revolver.
'Arkell won't be able to get here until to-morrow, he announced breathlessly as soon as they were inside Henry's office. 'In the meantime, we've just got to handle this thing ourselves."
Henry felt resentful of the 'we'. It was his tamasha, not Sudden's, and he had no wish to let Sudden muck it up. He said, "We were at it, as you see, sir. I was just going into a huddle with the inspector here. Would you care to go to the bungalow for breakfast?" Sudden glowered at him. 'Breakfast, Henry! No, this is no time to be thinking of one's comforts. Let's forget breakfast and get cracking down on this strike."
Very well, sir,' said Henry, sitting down in his seat at the head of the table. It was the first time he had sat down while Sudden happened to be still standing; it was also the first time he had taken the seat at the head of the table as though by right.
Sudden took a long time to sit down. He took out his pipe and lit it, still standing, still breathing heavily. Henry waited for him to sit down, drumming his fingers on the table impatiently.
Now let's get at this from the very beginning. Sudden began, as though determined to take control of the proceedings. What are their demands?
I have already explained it all, sir, in my telegram, Henry said with a patient air. They want Patiram as their stockman: they don't want Trevor."
'Humm, nothing else?"
'No, nothing; at least, not on the surface. But there's a good deal more at the back of all this, of course: the entire labour movement. Wallach, as you must remember, was slightly Bolshy himself. He tended to encourage his labour to get itself organized; and by the time I took over, the thing had taken root. The chief man behind all this is Jugal Kishore, a man crooked as they come. He has re signed and gone, and he's not about to-day; but he's at the back of all this. That girl standing in the centre is his niece or so he says. Knows English. It's she who must have rehearsed them in their chant. Jugal Kishore himself is now a candidate for an Assembly by-election. Many of the labourers regard him as their spokesman: but not all, thank God! This strike is part of an election stunt too, of course, because if Jugal Kishore's name figures prominently in a strike-in a strike against a British company-his election will be almost a certainty."
"So there's... hummm; there's no question of a settlement, what?" asked Sir Jeffrey.
'None whatever. That would be disastrous."
'Hummm,' said Sudden again, and puffed at his pipe 'In the meantime, what steps have you taken so far, Henry?"
I have dismissed the ringleaders and warned them that they must vacate their quarters instantly. I am going to send out a police party in the afternoon to evict them throw their belongings on the road if necessary
'Good!' said Sir Jeffrey, nodding his approval. 'What else? What do you propose to do now? Don't forget six thousand pounds of leaf is likely to go to waste every day
I was just going to go into our course of action with the in spector here, said Henry, when our discussion was you came in er, when Sudden seemed to take that in his stride He went on as though he had not noticed what Henry had said 'Well, I approve of the line you have taken so far, Henry We can't afford to be half hearted about these things. At the same time, I don t want any er flare up, you know how the Indians will pounce upon anything like that..." 'Please don't worry about a flare up, Sir Jeffrey Theres no flare up now Henry assured him and there won't be one later Just leave things to me
'Very well. I don't want to interfere with your ronduct of this er, unless things seem to get out of hand A good general doesn't go mucking about with his staff's plans unless they re making a balls of it. But can I have a word with you in private, Henry
Habh I your parmission to leabhe sir? vnd the inspector promptly, rising from his chau
'No, no, replied Henry impatiently Sir Jeffrey and I will re join you in a minute'.
They went to the far corner of the office, and Sudden placed a hand on Henry's shoulder "There's no question of buying this chap Jugal Kishore off, is there, Henry? he whispered A few hundred rupees
Buying him off You ve heady bought him off once at least, Arkell has, and this is the result. If you wish to try anything of that kind, Sir Jeffrey, I would ask to be absolved of all res ponsibility....
'No, no, Henry. You handle this, old boy, absolutely your own way. I just thought...I had brought the cash with me. You are quite certain?'
Anything like that is quite out of the question,' Henry told him very firmly.
All right, all right,' said Sir Jeffrey loudly, once again including the inspector in their conversation. I leave it in your hands, Henry. I have the fullest confidence in you."
Thank you, sir,' said Henry, grateful tor the unaccustomed ex- presion of confidence. I shall sit here, by the window, Henry,' said Sudden, literally taking a back seat, and watch the proceedings."
We want! Mister Trevor Never, never Winton sahib Chale jao!
'Chale jao, chale-jao, chale-jao, chale-jas! The strikers were join- ing in an increasing numbers, eagerly pouncing upon the only phrase with which they were familiar. Chale-jao, chale-jao, chale- jao, CHALE-1AO, CHALE-JAO!
STOP! shouted Henry Winton at them from the steps of the office building. Thero! Ekdum!"
There was an abrupt silence as the labourers stopped their chant of chale jao. They all turned their hea is to face the office steps. Henry Winton stood on the highest step while the policemen stood on the lower steps.
Let those who call themselves your leaders come forward, here" said Henry.
The only two who stepped forward were Gauri and her brother. There was a good deal of mumbling amongst the others, each one seeming to look to the other to take the lead, but there was no one eager to come forward as a leader.
Henry looked coldly at the two leaders, without a spark of recognition in his eyes. Just a boy and a girl? No others who call them- selves leaders? All right; if you don't know who your own leaders are,' said Henry, 'I will tell you. Step out and stand here as I call out your names!"
Henry opened his black-list file and began to read out the names, and the leaders began to step forward one by one. Henry read out twenty names although his list contained at least twice as many more. Mahipat and the others who had come to him the previous afternoon stood in the centre, behind Gauri and her brother.
Henry turned to the inspector, and once again those cold, half- closed, lifeless, policeman's eyes set up a wave of revulsion within him. But this was no time for squeamishness.
"Now!" he said to the inspector.
The inspector barked an order in Hindustani and ten policemen ran out and stood in the gateway, neatly separating the leaders from the others. Ten other policemen, brandishing their studded lathis, placed themselves in a ring round the group of leaders. The remaining four policemen and the inspector stood close to Henry.
These twenty men and women are under arrest, announced Henry. They are also being dismissed. Their houses will be taken back by the company; their belongings will be thrown into the road before this evening is over. These men and women will now be sent off in the police vans to await their trial."
Pushing with their lathis, the policemen herded the arrested coolies near the two vans. There was a mounting buzz of conversa tion, and when the doors of the van were opened, there arose a wail amongst the workers who were standing beyond the gate.
"Stop!" shouted Henry. 'Listen!"
They stopped, they listened.
These men and women have ruined themselves for life. Lost their jobs, lost their houses; and nobody is going to give them other jobs. Their wives and children and their dependents will have to beg, and they will have no roof over their heads. Do you want this to happen to you? Do you?" 'No, sahib,' a meek voice said.
'But we want justice,' said another, more loudly.
Who was that?' Henry demanded. 'Step forward, whoever said that."
No one came forward. All of them stood with their heads hang- ing down. "There will be no justice so long as the white men rule!" shouted Gauri defiantly.
'Never, never!' yelled her brother.
But this time, none of the others took up the chant.
This was the moment Henry Winton had been dieading. although he knew it was bound to come. It was a choice between what he intended to do, or a lathi-charge by the inspector and his inen. He squared his shoulders and strode up to the coolies rounded up near the vans. He stood in front of the boy, looking down at his trembling, defiant face for a long time, and then brought the back of his hand crashing against his mouth, again and again until the boy bent forward and crumpled and tell against his sister who put out her arms and caught him and hugged him close to her, limp and bleeding.
Gauri turned on Henry, white-faced and venomous, her eyes glinting with a burning, all-consuming rage, reminding Henry of a hooded cobra about to strike or an outraged temple goddess. T shall kill you for this, you white monster! she fussed. I shall kill you."
No one could have heard those words. They were like a secret message whispered to him in confidence, and for a moment Henry felt stunned by their virulence. Then he got a grip on himself, and almost as a reflex action, his fist shot out and hit the bold, upturned face, feeling the impact of the cold, soft, hips and cheek against his knuckles.
There was a gasp from the crowd, and then a pindrop silence as Henry walked back to the office steps, punctuated only by the sound of his measured footsteps crunching heavily on the gravel. He stood facing them once again.
'You want justice,' said Henry. There is always justice here: there is always justice under a British ompany. But at the same time, there is limitless power too, and no one can oppose a British company. No one! All the police in this country, all the great. army, are at the hack of a British company. To-morrow morning. the big police chiet will be here. After that, any time there is a collection of people, or any kind of demonstration, there will be firing. You will be shot down, understand? Not just arrested and sent away. Do you want that to happen in you?" This time, no one made a reply.
Think of your wives and children, your husbands, think of your warm, pucca, company-built houses; think of the future. Those who tell you to go on strike do not live here, they have already run away. They sit in their houses, safe. They don't come here to die as you will die when the police start finng. We shall not hesitate to shoot, and we shall shoot to kill. Are you ready to die?"
They still had nothing to say.
'As I told you, there is always justice under a British company.
But justice demands that all of you who are here should be dismissed and driven out. Two hundred more jobs for the hungry, two hundred more homes for the homeless. I have twenty men waiting for every one of your jobs Do you want to give up your jobs? I am ready, the police are ready, the men to take your jobs and your houses are waiting." 'No, sahib,' said one or two voices.
But we have something more than justice in this company. continued Henry. 'We have kindness also. By rights, all of you, all those who have not gone on work to-day, should be dismissed. But all of you are tortunate to-day because the burra-sahib has come here The buira sahib has given me orders that this afternoon, at two o'clock, the roll-call shall be taken again, in all your working areas. And those of you who are marked present will be treated as though you had never struck work. But two hours is all you have You can do what you like, but my advice to you, as your well washer, is to go back to your work and thank your gods that the burra-sahib is with you to day."
Henry turned on his heel at the same time as the police vans began to move out of the courtyard The labourers watched them as though in a daze, and as the vans turned the corner, once again there arose a wail from their midst.
Are you ready for lunch now, str?" asked Henry I think you handled that tricky situation very well,' said Sudden, still looking tense and white from the excitement Very well in deed. Do you think they will turn up for work?"
'Absolutely. Jugal Kishore can appeal to their emotions, we can hut at their bellies. It is hardly a fair fight."
'Good' To tell you the truth I am feeling quite peckish. I hadn't realized you could speak the lingo all that well, Henry, remarked Sir Jeffrey as they drove back to lunch The crowd at the gates had already disappeared. It was jolly decent of you to give me the credit, Henry,' Sudden said looking back at the empty courtyard. "Thank you."
As soon as he had attained the privacy of his bathroom, Henry put his head over the wash basin and was violently sick. He sat down on the cold white floor for a long time, trying to stop the uncontrollable shivering of his shoulders. He felt limp and played out, convinced that he could not keep up appearances much longer. His whole being ached to get away from it all, before he was irretrievably sucked in, before he learnt to accept physical violence to passive, uniesisting men and women as a part of life, like the dead-eyed Bengali police inspector; or before he broke down altogether. He wanted no more of Assam politics; no more of being a pawn in the murky passions of Anglo-India; no more of Sudden Dart and Chinnar; no more of British self-righteousness; and all the while, a beautiful young face crazed with hatred kept mocking at him in defiance, "You white monster"
Henry stripped and took a cold shower, and before he joined Sudden helped himself to a half-glass of neat brandy.
