The history of humanity's spiritual progress can point to few pages as noble as these. The moral value of such an action is incomparable, but as a political move it was disconcerting. Gandhi himself admits it might be called "politically unsound and unwise." It is dangerous to assemble all the forces of a nation and to hold the nation, panting, before a prescribed movement, to lift one's arm to give the final command, and then, at the last moment, let one's arm drop and thrice call a halt just as the formidable machinery has been set in motion. One risks ruining the brakes and paralyzing the impetus.
Therefore, when the congress committee held its session at Delhi, February 24, 1922, Gandhi met with great opposition. The resolutions of the working committee of Bardoli, approved on the eleventh, were not ratified without discussion. The non-coöperators split into two camps. Gandhi claimed that before civil disobedience could be launched the people must be better prepared, and he submitted a constructive program. But many members were irritated at the slow progress of the independence movement, and they protested against the suspension of civil disobedience. Gandhi's methods, they claimed, were stifling the nation's ardor. A vote of censure against the working committee was proposed, and it was suggested that its resolutions be annulled. In the end, however, Gandhi triumphed. But he suffered keenly, for he realized that the majority was not backing him sincerely; he knew that more than one of those who voted for him called him "dictator" behind his back. He knew that, at bottom, he no longer reflected the sentiment of the country. And with his undaunted sincerity he admits this, March 2, 1922:
There is so much undercurrent of violence, both conscious and unconscious, that I was actually and literally praying for a disastrous defeat. I have always been in a minority. In South Africa I started with practical unanimity, reached a minority of sixty-four and even sixteen, and went up again to a huge majority. The best and the most solid work was done in the wilderness of minority.... I know that the only thing that the Government dreads is this huge majority I seem to command. They little know that I dread it even more than they. I have become literally sick of the adoration of the unthinking multitude. I would feel certain of my ground if I was spat upon by them. A friend warned me against exploiting my "dictatorship." I have begun to wonder if I am not unconsciously allowing myself to be "exploited"! I confess that I have a dread of it as I never had before. My only safety lies in my shamelessness. I have warned my friends of the committee that I am incorrigible. I shall continue to confess blunders each time the people commit them. The only tyrant I accept in this world is the "still small voice" within. And even though I have to face the prospect of a minority of one, I humbly believe I have the courage to be in such a hopeless minority. That to me is the only truthful position. But I am a sadder and, I hope, a wiser man to-day. I see that our non-violence is skin-deep. We are burning with indignation. The Government is feeding it by its insensate acts. It seems almost as if the Government wants to see this land covered with murder, arson, and rapine in order to be able once more to claim exclusive ability to put them down.
This non-violence, therefore, seems to be due merely to our helplessness. It almost appears as if we are nursing in our bosoms the desire to take revenge the first time we get the opportunity. Can true voluntary non-violence come out of this seeming forced non-violence of the weak? Is it not a futile experiment I am conducting? What if, when the fury bursts, not a man, woman, or child is safe and every man's hand is raised against his fellow-being? Of what avail is it, then, if I fast myself to death in the event of such a catastrophe coming to pass? Let us be truthful. If it is by force that we wish to gain Swaraj, let us drop non-violence and offer such violence as we may. It would be a manly, honest, and sober attitude, and no one can then accuse us of the terrible charge of hypocrisy.[116] If, in spite of all my warnings... the majority did not believe in our goal, although they accepted it without a single material change, I would ask them to realize their responsibility. They are not bound to rush to civil disobedience, but to settle down to the quiet work of construction. If we do not take care, we are likely to be drowned in the waters whose depth we do not know....
Those who do not believe in the creed should surely retire from the congress.
And, turning to the minority, Gandhi adds:
The patriotic spirit demands loyal and strict adherence to non-violence and truth. Those who do not believe in them should retire from the congress organization.
There is bitter sadness, but a proud manliness, in these forceful words. It was the night in Gethsemane. Gandhi's arrest was imminent. Who knows whether, in his heart, he did not look upon imprisonment as a delivery?
§ 3
Gandhi had for a long time been expecting to be arrested. Ever since November 10, 1920, all his affairs had been in order and he himself prepared. He had dictated his instructions to the people in his article, "If I Am Arrested." He referred to this possibility again in an article dated March 9, 1922, when the rumor of his arrest again cropped up. He says he does not fear the Government. "Rivers of blood shed by the Government cannot frighten me." The only thing he fears is that the people may be carried away at the news of his arrest. This would be a disgrace to him. "I desire that the people should maintain perfect self-control and consider the day of my arrest a day of rejoicing. The Government believes that I am the soul of all this agitation and that if I am removed it will be left in peace. The only thing that remains is for it to measure the strength of the people. Let the people preserve perfect peace and calmness. It is a matter of no pride or pleasure to me, but of humiliation, that the Government refrain from arresting me for fear of an outbreak of universal violence." Let the people carry out the whole constructive program. Let there be no hartals or demonstrations, no cooperation with the Government. Let courts and schools be boycotted. Let, in short, the program of non-coöperation be pursued in absolute order and discipline. If the people can live up to this program, they will win. Otherwise they will face disaster.
When everything was in readiness, Gandhi went to his cherished retreat at the Ashram of Sarbarmati, near Ahmedabad, to await, in quiet meditation and surrounded by his beloved disciples, the coming of the constables. He longed for imprisonment. In his absence India would affirm her purpose with greater strength. And, as he says, imprisonment would give him "a quiet and physical rest," which he perhaps deserved.[117]
The constables arrived on the night of March 10. News had reached the Ashram of their coming. The Mahatma was ready, and placed himself at their disposal. On the way to prison he met Maulana Hasrat Mohani, a Mohammedan friend who had come from far to give him a last embrace. Banker, the editor of "Young India," was sent to jail along with the master. Gandhi's wife was allowed to accompany her husband as far as the prison gates.