The event

Before we confront questions concerning the meaning of Gandhi’s death it might be useful to go back to the scene of the crime, to recall to our minds that fateful day when Gandhi proceeded towards his prayer meeting, his walk across the lawn to his seat abruptly terminated before he reached his seat. Despite the cataclysmic dimensions of this event, there are not many eye-witness accounts of it.1 One of the best of these comes from Vincent Sheean (1899–1975), an American reporter and author, who, it seems, ‘innocently went to India in 1947 to find out “something about life’s meaning, purpose and significance” ’ (Traces 2003); he was fortunate enough to interview Gandhi on 27 January 1948 (Gandhi 1999, Vol. 98: 318–319); three days later he was also present when Nathuram assassinated Gandhi (Traces 2003). The advantage of Sheean’s account is that, as an outsider, he is not partial to either the camp of Gandhi followers or Gandhi haters. He manages, moreover, to offer an account that is charged with immediacy and drama, despite the physical distance of some hundred metres between him and the assassination. The following excerpt is drawn from his book, Lead, Kindly Light, first published in 1949:

I got a taxi and went out to Birla House in time for the prayer-meeting. … It was not yet five o’clock and people were still streaming in on foot, in cars and with tongas. As I came on to the prayer-ground at the end of the garden I ran into Bob Stimson, the Delhi correspondent of the B.B.C. … He looked at his watch and said: ‘Well, this is strange. Gandhi’s late. He’s practically never late.’

We both looked at our watches again. It was 5:12 by my watch when Bob said: ‘Here he is.’

It was one of those shining Delhi evenings, not at all warm but alight with the promise of spring … the Mahatma advance[d] toward us over the grass, leaning lightly on two of ‘the girls’, with two or three other members of his ‘family’ (family or followers) behind them. … It was not a warm evening and he was wrapped in homespun shawls. He passed by us on the other side and turned to ascend the four or five brick steps which led to the terrace or prayer-ground.

Here, as usual, there was a clump of people, some of whom were standing and some of whom had gone on their knees or bent low before him. … Then I heard four small, dull, dark explosions.2 ‘What’s that?’ I said to Bob in sudden horror. ‘I don’t know’, he said. I remember that he grew pale in an instant. ‘Not the Mahatma!’ I said, and then I knew.

Inside my own head there occurred a wavelike disturbance which I can only compare to a storm at sea – wind and wave surging tremendously back and forth … I recoiled upon the brick wall and leaned against it, bent almost in two. I felt the consciousness of the Mahatma leave me then – I know of no other way of expressing this: he left me.

(Sheean, quoted in EyeWitness to History, 15 May 2005)

Sheean did not actually see what happened, though he was on the same premises, but we do get a sense from his account of the atmosphere that fatal afternoon.

Manubehn,3 his grandniece, who was actually by Gandhi’s side when Nathuram fired the semi-automatic Beretta pistol, wrote a briefer, more dispassionate account that very midnight in her journal. What is truly remarkable is her tone of quiet detachment, something Gandhi would have been very proud of in one of his closest associates in these last days of his life. Indeed, he had prepared and trained her for this eventuality through his repeated remarks and forewarnings after coming to Delhi on 9 September 1948.

Before proceeding towards the prayer meeting, Gandhi had been absorbed in a serious conversation with Sardar Patel, the Home Minister of newly independent India. In fact, he was late because no one wished to disturb this conference to remind him of the time. While talking to Patel, Gandhi also had his ‘last supper’ of one-and-a-half cups of goat’s milk, the same quantity of vegetable soup, and three oranges (Manubehn 1962a: 40). He had also continued spinning during this time. The moment Patel’s daughter, Manibahen, informed him that he was already late for the prayer meeting, Gandhi got up. Manubehn picked up his pen, spittoon, and spectacle case, along with her notebook and prayer beads, and they ‘set out for the prayer ground’ (Manubehn 1962a: 40).

Manu tells us that Bapu, who had been such a stickler for time, had at last stopped living by the clock: ‘You are my timekeepers … why should I consult a watch?’ (ibid.: 40–41). Manu and Abha joked, ‘Bapuji, your watch must be feeling quite neglected!’ (ibid.: 41). After a while Bapu rejoined, ‘I do not like being late for the prayer meeting. Today’s delay is due to your negligence. … Even a minute’s delay for the prayer causes me great discomfort’ (ibid.). Manu, the author of this account, was to Bapu’s right, his hand on her right shoulder as they walked.

When they had reached the prayer dais, ‘a well-built young man, clad in Khaki clothes, tore through the crowd from the right’ (ibid.), and accosted them. It was Nathuram Godse. He made a gesture as if of obeisance, joining his palms together. Gandhi was used to people touching his feet, though he didn’t like it. This, Manu says, is what they assumed the man intended to do. Manu, stopping him from leaning forward, admonishes Nathuram: ‘Brother, Bapuji is already late for prayers. Why are you bothering him?’ (ibid.: 42). But Nathuram, quite roughly, pushes away Manu. All the things she is carrying, her notebook and prayer mala, Bapu’s spectacles and spittoon, fall to the ground. Manu, at first, ignoring this, continues to remonstrate with Godse. But when her prayer beads also fall, she bends down to pick them up. Before she can retrieve them, ‘Three deafening bullet shots rent the air’ (ibid.). Before she can even begin to understand what is happening, it is all over:

The shots had been fired at point blank range. There was sudden darkness, and the air was filled with smoke. The crowd began to surge forward. And in the midst of this sudden darkness, smoke and confusion, Bapu fell.

(Manubehn 1962a: 42)

We shall see how, as Bapu’s body touches the ground, and crumples, it is as if an epoch has come to an end. Manu clearly says that Bapu’s last words were ‘He Rama! He Rama!’ (ibid.). In fact, even as he falls, his hands are up, trying to reciprocate his assassin’s ‘fake namaskar’, (ibid.: 43). Manu comments on this gesture of the fallen Mahatma, ‘And as he fell, his palms remained joined, as if pleading for forgiveness and mercy from the people’ (ibid.). A guiltless man, even as he has been brought down, is still seeking to absolve his killers and those left behind alive. Taking everyone’s blame upon himself, he seeks their forgiveness even as his life-breath ebbs away.

Manu relates how people rush to try to stop the Mahatma from collapsing, but to no avail. There he is, lying on the ‘green lap’ of Mother earth. The time elapsed in this duration, according to Manu, is just three or four minutes:

The bullets had been fired so near me, that for a while, my ears were deaf and I could not hear a thing. It took some moments before I could fully grasp the situation – so bewildered had I become. It is impossible to express our mental condition at that moment.

(Ibid.: 43)

The time on Bapu’s watch, which he had stopped consulting, comes to a standstill at 5:17 p.m. His white khadi clothes are streaked with blood. No doctor is available. Another ten minutes pass before he is carried back to his room. Even his personal physician and close associate, Dr Sushila Nayar’s first-aid box is found to be empty. There is, of course, no aid to the Mahatma’s condition. He is dead. In any case, he had little use of medicines when he was alive; ‘Rama nama’ (the Lord’s name, chanted) had been his only doctor (Manubehn 1962b: 43). Manu says, ‘And now no one but Rama could help him’ (ibid.). The irony is that actually no one but Rama can help her and those left behind either; Gandhi himself did not need help anymore. Rama nama, Gandhi’s only medicine, worked as well in death as it did in life. It is the one unfailing remedy, whose action is identical, whether in this world or the next. Ferried across the ocean of samsara on the boat of Rama nama, the lifeless body of the Mahatma, in fact, is beyond human help, least of all from a doctor. Earlier, with his persistent cough for which he refused antibiotics, Gandhi may have needed Rama nama to cure himself. Now, having crossed to the other side, Rama nama has actually done its work; no more help is called for. Patel, the last major leader to have been with Gandhi, who has just reached his residence, now rushes back. Crowds have gathered as Gandhi’s near and dear are sobbing inconsolably. Manu says that it was Bapu who had often comforted her when she cried in the past; after all, she is still just a teenager. But today, ‘no amount of wailing … could induce Bapuji to open his eyes’ (ibid.: 44).

Just as no doctor is at hand and the first-aid box is empty, no hospital in the vicinity is able to send either a doctor or ambulance. When Brijkrishna Chandiwala, after failing to elicit any response on the phone, actually goes to Willing-don Hospital, he has to return empty-handed, unaccompanied by any doctor (ibid.: 44). The Father of the Nation lies unattended till Dr Bhargava comes to examine him for the last time. At 12:30 that day, Gandhi had been trying to secure a building that would house Dr Bhargava’s nursing home and orphanage (ibid.: 37). Now the good doctor carries out a detailed examination only to pronounce the foregone verdict, which he does in the most humane and gentle way: ‘Manu, child, Bapu is now no more!’ (Manubehn 1962b: 45).

Gandhi has been shot with the seven-chamber semi-automatic M1934 Beretta pistol bearing the serial number 606824. Godse, who had wielded the gun, fired three shots. The first passed through Gandhi’s stomach, ‘two and a half inches above the navel, and three and half inches to the right of the sternum’ (ibid.: 44). The second bullet ‘pierced the chest at a spot one and a half inch[es] to the right of the breast-bone’ (ibid.). Both bullets had emerged cleanly to the other side and fallen to the ground. The third bullet punctured Gandhi’s right lung, and remained lodged there. There was a heavy loss of blood and Gandhi’s face was ashen.

K. M. Munshi, Devdas Gandhi, Gandhi’s youngest son, and Devdas’s youngest son, Gopalkrishna Gandhi, also arrive. A while later, so does Jawaharlal Nehru. Manu says, ‘And Panditji! He hid his face in Sardar Patel’s lap and sobbed like a child’ (ibid.: 46). There are now tens of thousands of people thronging the grounds of Birla House. In the melee, Bapu’s spectacles, which had fallen to the ground, and his sandals, have gone missing. Manu, who had clipped Bapu’s nails in the afternoon while he had been talking to Patel, now does not throw them away: ‘I carefully picked up these nails, and, as if they were precious jewels, I safely tucked them into my box’ (ibid.: 46). They remained with her. The Governor-General, formerly the last Viceroy of India, Lord Mountbatten, also arrives. Patel makes an announcement on the All India Radio. Nehru, who is to speak too, breaks into sobs, finally managing to complete his sentence, ‘Our Bapu … Bapu is now no more with us’ (ibid.: 47). In the meanwhile, the throngs outside wish to have a last glimpse of Gandhi, so there is talk of moving him to the balcony where everyone can better see his body. Nehru, in a momentary lapse, says to Manu, ‘go and ask Bapu what arrangements we should make!’ (Manubehn 1962b: 47). Though Nehru and the other leaders of the Congress have always turned to Gandhi in their hours of crises, there is a poignant irony in asking him what to do with his own dead body, even as the crowds crave for a last glimpse. Manu bursts into tears as Nehru comes to his senses again (ibid.: 48).

The Gita recitation, at K. M. Munshi’s behest, has already begun. Now dignitaries from other lands, members of the diplomatic corps, seconded to the capital of the newly independent India, also start arriving. Not far behind are photographers and members of the press. All through, Bapu’s face is utterly peaceful, body perfectly relaxed, as if he is ‘in a deep, deep sleep’ (ibid.: 48). The body is moved to the balcony, placed in such a posture that it can be seen by the flocking crowds. A spontaneous cry rends the air, ‘Mahatma Gandhi ki jai!’ – Victory to Mahatma Gandhi. Manu says that the crowd thunders this slogan again and again, weeping, and showering coins and flowers on the departed Mahatma’s body (ibid.: 49).

At 2 a.m. on 31 January, the body is bathed in the waters of the Yamuna. The fallen prayer-beads along with a garland of hand-spun yarn are placed around its neck in recognition of the role the latter had played in the fight for Svaraj. Bapu is then anointed with sandalwood paste, his forehead embellished with a kumkum tilak, the red auspicious mark (ibid.: 49–50) of victory. Near his head, in rose petals, are inscribed his last words, ‘He Rama’, and by his feet, the sacred syllable, OM. The rest of Manu’s narrative describes the most impressive, even glorious funeral procession; Gandhi’s body placed in a gun carriage, pulled by both leaders and the masses on its way to its place of cremation, Raj Ghat, on the banks of the Yamuna. There were thousands of armed soldiers who accompanied the gun carriage carrying the body of the apostle of non-violence to his final destination, an irony certainly not lost on most commentators.

Yasmin Khan in her essay ‘Performing Peace’ shows that the newly formed Nehruvian state consolidated its hold on power and derived considerable legitimacy from Gandhi’s assassination:

it was not only the fact of Gandhi’s death itself but through the performance of the attendant rituals, ceremonies and the public and private manifestations of grief that Indian state sovereignty was consolidated and extended.

(2011: 62)

The cremation rituals, distribution of ashes, and national mourning that followed all contributed to this process. Both Nehru, seen as his heir, and the Congress party, benefited because they were able to capitalize on the sympathy generated by Gandhi’s killing; a pattern that has been seen over and over again in the sub-continent, such that the deaths of Indira Gandhi, Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, Mujibur Rahman, Rajiv Gandhi, Biju Patnaik, and so on, ensured the rise to power of their political heirs and successors. But to dwell much longer on such details shifts our attention from Gandhi’s death to the performance of the funeral and its after-effects on the Indian state. Given our main focus on the death itself, it is to this central event that we must perforce return.

Notes

1  Bob Stimpson, who is mentioned by Sheean, also filed a report for the BBC, which is supposedly available on http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/50664.stm, but the link to the sound file is dead (last access failure on 22 August 2013). The report is also supposedly on the CBC (Canadian Broadcasting Corporation) website (www.cbc.ca/archives/categories/politics/international-politics/india-colonial-past-global-future/the-assassination-of-mahatma-Gandhi.html) where too it fails to play (last access failure on 22 August 2013). Other eyewitness accounts include Dharam Jit Jigyasu’s recollection to his grandson in 2000, originally posted on the CBS website, and available on YouTube (Jaitly 2007); but recorded over 50 years after, this account lacks the immediacy of Sheean’s account. The written text from the website by the grandson, Muni S. Jaitly, begins with the dramatic claim, ‘Mahatma Gandhi died in my grandfather’s arms’ (Jaitly 2009), which is not strictly true because it was in Abha Gandhi’s arms that the fatally wounded Mahatma drew his last breath. In early 2012, a report by Vivek Shukla of the reminiscences of K. D. Madan, another eyewitness, was published in The Pioneer (28 January 2012). However, nonagenarian Madan, who was then an employee of the All India Radio, hardly adds anything new to what we already know about the event.

2  Actually, there were three, not four shots.

3  Her name is spelled in at least three different ways: Manubehn, Manuben, and Manubahen. Actually, Manu is the name and ‘bahen’ the honorific, meaning sister. I have used the first form, which was used in the Collected Works of Mahatma Gandhi and also in her own books.