Chachaji

Sharma: Well, in which year did you come to Delhi?

Chacha Ji: I came to Delhi in 1921. Since then I am here.

Sharma: Do you recall the political atmosphere in Delhi in 1921-1922?

Chacha Ji: I think the first movement that was started in 1921 was the volunteer movement. I was too young, 17 or 18. I was “The Courier” for that movement, taking messages from one place to another, and organising wherever some organisational work was required, and all that was going on. The volunteer movement started with the first batch of a few persons like me, 13 or 14. And one man had to be the leader of that movement. The first leader was Asaf Ali. And all those people had to be in dresses, uniforms. And they were in khaki dress—as volunteers in the movement. They marched through Chandni Chowk. And no one knew me.

Of course, as I was so young, nothing was more interesting to me than going with the procession of the volunteers throughout, from wherever it would start and wherever it would end. Then every week or ten days or fifteen days they would, whenever they were able to, organise a ‘March’ for the movement. One of the organisers was Dr Sukhdev. There were some other organisers whom I did not know because that was only my first year here and I was so young. But I helped them in every manner— in buying cloth, taking the cloth to the tailor, getting the dresses made, delivering them to a certain place to make them available to the volunteers. I remember there was one tailor by the name of Mahammed Qidris, who used to stitch in a narrow lane somewhere. So I had to deliver the cloth to him, get the dresses made, and deliver them at the Congress office to Dr Sukh Dev.

The leader of the next batch was, as far as I remember, Sardar Nanak Singh. Like that a few batches went off. Then it became so difficult to find a leader for the batch who would lead the movement.

In those days I had no money, absolutely. There was a Typewriting and Shorthand Institute at Nai Sarak and its owner was Ganpat Ram. Ganpat Ram and Radha Raman (not the one who was recently a Member of Parliament) were partners. They were having two types of business. One was that they used to sell watch-parts, in wholesale, throughout the country and the other was the Typewriting and Shorthand Institute.

So I went to those people and told them: “I want to learn typewriting.” They asked for a fee of two rupees per month, which I could not pay. I asked Ganpat Ram: “If I could be of any service?...I can give you some service if you like but I cannot pay the money.” So he agreed. And I stayed in a lane in a small verandah below his house and I was working as a servant to him. A servant to him—to bring vegetables and other things from the market and also to carry his six-month or one-year-old child. His wife used to take a lot of work against giving me ‘free teaching of typewriting’. He was married to a Christian. One day when I was sitting and practising typewriting, his partner, Radha Raman passed by. He was wearing foreign cloth called mulmul. It struck against my table and was torn. And I told him spontaneously, “If you were wearing Khadi it wouldn’t have been torn.” He slapped me and maybe there fell some sort of curse on him. Dr Sukh Dev was very friendly with these people. When they were not getting any leader for the next batch of the volunteer procession, maybe out of some vengeance in my heart or anger, I asked Dr Sukh Dev, “Why not ask Radha Raman to become the leader?” When Dr Sukh Dev asked him, Radha Raman agreed to become the leader. The next day the volunteer batch had to go and the whole night we had to work to get the uniforms ready. Radha Raman was at that time sitting in a theatrical company in Darya Ganj watching some show.

So we went there, called him out, got his measurements, and the uniform was got ready by the next morning. He was made the leader of a batch of volunteers and was sent off. All these people—those who were in that batch—were sentenced to one-year rigorous imprisonment and sent to Mianwali Jail.

Sharma: Mr Jauhar, could you tell us what was the uniform of the volunteers?

Chacha Ji: It was a khaki shirt, a pair of khaki pants and a khaki Gandhi cap.

Sharma: Not shorts?

Chacha Ji: No, not shorts.

Sharma: And shoes?

Chacha Ji: Shoes, of course.

Sharma: Who paid for the cloth?

Chacha Ji: Well, that I do not know. It was all underground work. I used to go from place to place carrying messages, letters, cloth, etc. which, of course, was quite a task. It was not very easy for the others to do that. But I always did it day and night because, as I have said, there was a ‘Fire’ in me.

Sharma: Was there some secrecy about the volunteer organisation?

Chacha Ji: Yes, there was absolute secrecy about it. The British Government and the police did not know, who will come the next day, who will be the volunteer, who will be the leader, who will be conducting the volunteer movement at that time? It was all a secret. Everything was done secretly. Otherwise the British Government and the police would never allow the dresses to be made and the volunteers to carry on the March. I do not know the details of that secrecy. I don’t know much. I was only in touch with Dr Sukh Dev, with whom I did all these works.

Sharma: Sardar Nanak Singh and Dr Sukh Dev played a very important part in the movement but very little is known about them. Could you give us some details about them?

Chacha Ji: Dr Sukh Dev was a staunch Arya Samaji from Gurukul Kangri and he was a staunch nationalist also. All his life he worked for the Congress. He was the son-in-law of Swami Shraddhanand by out-of-caste marriage. He was a widower doctor, practising in village Barwala where he had built a hospital, treating the poor free of charge, giving free medicines. He was in the Congress not for any position or anything like that but with the spirit of complete sacrifice. He was regarded very highly in Congress circles. Sardar Nanak Singh was a businessman. He ran a firm called E. Osborne & Company, dealing in foreign rubber carpets and some rubber materials like that. He was a very sincere and honest person in every respect. His office was at Hauz Kazi. On account of the movement I used to go to his office. After his arrest, he completely lost his business worth about Rs.50,000/- which he had built on his own in three or four years. When he was going to be arrested he asked his father Sardar Wadhwa Singh, an accountant in the P.W.D., to look after his business in his absence. But at the same time Sardar Nanak Singh told me: “My father has a very bad character—a most dishonest person. Surely my business will be ruined in my absence. But I don’t care for that. I must be in the Congress movement.” This came absolutely true. He was sentenced to one-year R.I. and sent to Mianwali Jail. When he returned, there was absolutely nothing left of his business. Then he had to start again with Lala Diwan Chand, Seth Raghumal and Dr Keshav Dev Shastri. Only for the sake of Sardar Nanak Singh, these three joined and started a firm, Delhi Iron Syndicate, and he was made the Managing Director as a working partner without investing any money.

I had no means of livelihood in Delhi. Well, there is a long story behind it. My father once sent me Rs. 10/- by money order from Alwar but I refused to take it. After he had told me that he was so sorry about my leaving college, how could I accept any money from him? At least for two years, I was living in Delhi only on one anna a day, which I used to earn in an hour! I had borrowed two rupees from Dr Yudhvir Singh’s wife when I came to Delhi and purchased some stationery from Sadar Bazar. Quite a lot of stationery could be purchased for just Rs. 2/-, in those days. There was a Commercial High School in Charkhewalan. During the recess, I used to sit outside the school and earn one anna or so a day and was living on that for about two years! By that time I learnt typewriting also.

There was a Service Securing Agency in Shraddhanand Bazar—in those days it was called Burn Bastion Road. I went there and enquired from them if they could secure an appointment for me. They said: “You have to register your name, pay Rs.2/-, and then you will have to pay half of your first month’s salary.” I said: “I will pay half month’s salary, but I cannot pay Rs.2/- now.” As I was young, the manager was very sympathetic and agreed that he would take Rs.2/- also after the appointment was secured. Then I got a job as a typist in Sholapur Mill shop at Nai Sarak. Along with the half of my first month’s salary I paid the registration fee of Rs.2/- to the agency. But I had made an arrangement with the owner of the shop that I would only work for four hours a day because I had to work for the Congress and the Arya Kumar Sabha and won’t be able to work for the whole day. He agreed to it and paid me Rs.25/- per month. I was working there for over a year or so. I used to finish all their correspondence work within those four hours. Even I would do whatever else they liked me to do. They appreciated my work so much that on Diwali day, they gave me a prize of Rs. 10/- which, of course, in those days was not given to anyone.

In the meantime, my father came and searched me out through the Arya Samaj. I was still working in the Sholapur Mill shop, four hours a day. I resided at Ganpat Ram’s house and was doing a servant’s duty. I used to cook myself. Earlier I had lived on one anna which I used to earn daily. One could get quite a lot of wheat flour for one anna—it was about 20 seers for Rs.1/- in those days. In the verandah, at the narrow lane, Ganpat Ram had a cow and along with it I had my cot! And below the cot I had kept an angithi. Sometimes when I would be sleeping, in the middle of the night I would find that the cow had defecated over me!

What I used to do in the morning was that I would prepare quite a number of chapattis for the whole day and get curd of skimmed milk from a nearby halwai shop. The curd was out of the separated milk, only 2 pice a seer, and being a regular customer I used to pay one pice and could get quite a good quantity for four days. This curd was so delicious—adding just a little salt to it, I used to enjoy that food very much. When I got Rs. 25/- as salary, then, of course, I could afford much. But still I kept preparing my food myself and living at Ganpat Ram’s house only.

My father came and took me to Lala Diwan Chand, who belonged to our district, to a place quite near our village. He was a military contractor for ‘coal and salt’ and was also a pillar of Arya Samaj, a very powerful Arya Samaji in Delhi. He was quite young, about twenty-six years old. He had his own house called ‘Diwan Bhawan’ behind the Jama Masjid. There he had his office. My father took me to him although he did not know my father.

My father told him: “Lalaji, we are also from Jhelum district. This is my son, a vagabond, here he has come without anything and he does not want to go back. He knows typewriting; and if he can be given any employment in your organisation then I will have some sort of satisfaction that at least he is in a safe place.” Lala Diwan Chand agreed to give me the post of a typist on Rs.50/- per month. He was very considerate. In those days a typist was not given much salary but he did that as my father, with tears in his eyes, had persuaded him and appealed to him so much.

Then I shifted to Diwan Bhawan. During daytime I used to put my bedding under my table in the office and in the evening I would take out my bedding and sleep on the table. During the day I would work as a typist and in the early mornings and evenings I would work for the Congress and the Arya Kumar Sabha. Then I took my food in one of the dhabas at the crossing of Nai Sarak and Chawri Bazar. The dhaba was called after some tree’s name, ‘Bar Shah Bullah’. And the dhabawalla was Sardar Kesar Singh. Sometimes Lala Diwan Chand’s wife used to give me some left-over food or something like that.