2 Painful TransitionsAfter the tragedy of Radhabai’s demise, the year 1896 finally brought cheer to the Savarkar family. Babarao turned seventeen and was married to Yashoda, the niece of Nanarao Phadke of Tryambakeshwar. She was two years younger than Vinayak and thus began a lifelong friendship between the two. In her memoirs, she narrates the incident of her first meeting with her favourite brother-in-law, Vinayak.1
A day before the wedding, unable to contain his curiosity about his future sister-in-law, Vinayak, along with his younger brother Bal, turned up at the residence of Yashoda’s uncle, advocate Nanarao Phadke. Yashoda was busy with the pre-marriage rituals. Besides, she was suffering from a bout of conjunctivitis. The smart thirteen-year-old Vinayak arrived at their doorstep and with an air of confidence inquired: ‘Is this the Phadke residence? Where is our sister-in-law?’ A bemused group of women asked him who he was and which sister-in-law he was looking for. Vinayak’s gift of the gab and smart replies won their hearts. Yashoda’s mother, Mathura Tai, reminisced that she could not tire seeing Vinayak’s adorable, handsome and delicate frame.
After the wedding that was held at Tryambakeshwar, when the time came for the Yashoda’s departure, she started crying at the prospect of leaving her maternal home. Her mother tried in vain to console her. Seeing her sob uncontrollably, Vinayak stepped forward and assured her mother that he would take care of nursing her conjunctivitis and give her the proper medication. His innocence about the reason for her tears made everyone, including Yashoda, burst out laughing. On the return journey at night from Tryambakeshwar to Nashik in a bullock cart, Vinayak kept describing the natural beauty of the region to Yashoda who could barely keep her eyes open.
True to his word, on their return, he took care of her conjunctivitis, and she was soon cured. The Savarkar household, bereft of a woman for long, got in Yashoda a loving girl, who stepped up to be a mother to her two younger brothers-in-law. As per Hindu tradition, her maiden name too was changed after marriage to Saraswati, but the name Yesu Vahini (sister-inlaw), as Vinayak and Bal called her, stuck with her for the rest of her life. She was the affectionate confidante that Vinayak had always craved. He taught her to read and write and shared his writings and poems with her. In return, Yesu taught him melodious Marathi songs from her vast repertoire, particularly the Marathi Gajagauri songs dedicated to the Mother Goddess.
Shortly after the wedding, Babarao completed his Marathi education in Bhagur, and Damodarpant decided to send him to Nashik to pursue higher education in English. Babarao was always a spiritually inclined young man. In Nashik, he came under the influence of a mendicant, Balabua, from whom he learnt several techniques of yoga and meditation. He began following austerities like surviving on merely ghee and water for an entire month and remaining awake for long hours in the night. It is said that he spent almost fourteen to fifteen hours daily on his yogic and spiritual pursuits. Unlike his younger brother Vinayak, the political upheavals in the country hardly mattered to Babarao and they even failed to impact his mind. For someone so aloof from political matters, it was quite a transition when he jumped into the revolutionary fray many years later, after being inspired by Vinayak.
Around this time, communal riots rocked different parts of the Bombay Presidency. The Ganapati festivals and the subsequent processions often invited Muslim ire and led to conflicts. The Muslims quoted their theological texts that prescribed offering their prayers in silence— something that the processional music of the Hindus allegedly disturbed. Trying to deduce which community began a riot was a classic chickenand-egg problem. On 6 February 1894, in Yeola, a small weaving centre in the Nashik district, a conflict erupted over a report that a pig’s head had been thrown into a local mosque. On receiving the news, the mamlatdar went to the mosque and found ‘two portions of a dead pig, cut in half, lying in the mosque and its enclosure’.2 He urged the crowd that had gathered ‘not to attempt any reprisals’.3 But soon after, news arrived that ‘the Musalmans had retaliated by slaughtering a cow in the Hindu temple’.4 This led to further rioting and military assistance was sent for. Later in the day, the mamlatdar heard that ‘the Hindus were making arrangements to burn the Juma mosque’.5 Even as police protection could be arranged, news came in that Muslims ‘had set fire to the Muralidhar temple’.6 Elsewhere, other mosques and temples were damaged or destroyed. Four people were killed.7
Government officials attributed this spurt in violence to the cow protection movement that had gained ground. It was one of the central tenets of the Arya Samaj founded by Hindu reformer Swami Dayanand Saraswati. Cow protection societies existed in Punjab since 1882. In Bombay, it was around 1887 that the Society for the Preservation of Horned Cattle was formed with modest goals such as construction of gau shalas or cow refuge homes. However, by the 1890s, cow protection societies had spread across a number of Deccan towns including Ahmednagar, Belgaum, Dharwar, Poona, Satara, Nashik and Yeola.
The other reason for the outbreak of clashes between the two communities was the vexed one of Hindu processional music being played in front of mosques. With music being considered taboo in Islam, the Muslim clerics detested the processions that played loud music passing by their places of worship, while the Hindus contested it saying they were using a public space where no one could dictate their actions. As early as 1859, a Bombay Sadr Faujdari Adalat (court) had ruled that music in temples that formed part of religious worship must be respected. However, processional street music, which was not necessarily part of core Hindu religious ritual, should be conceded only when it did not interfere with the liberty of others. Thus:
The right of praying in their mosque must be secured to the Muhammadans so long as their prayers are not a nuisance to others, and the Hindus may be allowed to accompany their processions with music so long as their music is not a nuisance to others; but whenever it becomes a nuisance, it ought, the Judges think, to be prohibited.8
In the Kesari, Tilak denounced the government for what he alleged as appeasement of the Muslim sentiments when it came to cow slaughter and which had led to these riots all over the Presidency. 9 The processional music issue too bothered him and he decided to retaliate by making the Ganapati festivals grander and more ostentatious than before. The processions were marked by loud shouts of call to arms for the Hindus and to rebel as Shivaji did to overthrow alien power. The festival was organized as a mela movement. A mela consisted of a group of young men or students, dressed in special costumes, armed with sticks, who practised singing, dancing, drilling and fencing. Each mela was attached to a particular Ganapati celebration and would go around the town and the countryside before and during the ten days of the festival. They performed popular verses and songs in which references to current political events were inserted. It is these songs that Muslims objected to and that led to a communally precarious situation.
Vinayak and his friends were absorbing from the Kesari , Pune Vaibhav and other newspapers the stories of these bloody riots and the polarized tinderbox that Maharashtra had become. Each time they heard of the attack on Hindus, they would be enraged and wondered why Hindus could not organize themselves and retaliate instead of suffering repression. To avenge the riots, Vinayak and his friends planned a secret attack on a mosque in Bhagur that had been left unused for decades. By dusk, the team of boys armed with their little weapons attacked the mosque, broke down parts of it and made a quick escape. When the news reached their Muslim classmates, they were incensed and there was a showdown at school. The ‘Hindu side’ led by Vinayak and armed with their ‘weapons’ managed to trounce the opponents. A truce was thereafter called for, as per which both sides agreed not to bring this to the notice of any teacher. However, a few Muslim boys were seething with rage and sought revenge by vowing to put meat into the Brahmin boy’s mouth.10
While these incidents could be dismissed as childish squabbles, Vinayak acknowledges in his memoirs that these experiences taught him how poorly organized and disunited the Hindu community was and how easy it was to subjugate them. 11 The Hindus were perpetually divided among themselves along several fault lines, especially caste, and this made them doubly vulnerable to attacks. They were full of self-doubt and suspicion about the other, and seldom committed to the ‘cause’. Vinayak decided to establish a ‘military training school’ of sorts to instil a sense of discipline, rigour and commitment among his group.
The boys divided themselves into groups—some of them played the role of Hindus, while others were either Muslims or the British. Neem seeds were used as mock bullets. Those who were unafraid of the attack of the neem seeds and managed to grab the saffron Hindu flag or bhagwa from the middle of the field while also stealing the opponent’s arms was declared the winner. Almost always it was Vinayak who headed the Hindu side and steered them to victory. If ever the Muslim or British side seemed to win, he would diplomatically urge them (after all they were only playacting) to accept defeat for the larger ‘national interest’. After all, in their skit, the Hindus could never lose. The boys would sing victory songs and parade all through Bhagur after these games. Babarao was good at archery and Vinayak began to learn this art from him. Damodarpant had a sword and a gun at home that Vinayak would keep looking at with awe, touching and feeling these, and trying to learn to use these as well.
A historically conscious Vinayak was thrilled to read about a new initiative that his hero, Tilak, had started in 1896. On 15 April 1896, on the same lines as the Ganapati festival, Tilak inaugurated the Shivaji festival at Raigarh in Poona. The objective was to raise funds to maintain Shivaji’s tomb in Raigarh and to instil a sense of nationalism drawn from their past in Maharashtrians. The festival was held annually on the anniversary of Shivaji’s coronation—a momentous occasion that had led to the foundation of the glorious Maratha Empire. Ballads, or powadas, were composed in praise of Shivaji and his inspirational guru, Ramdas; athletic competitions were held; kirtans and plays performed, and lectures given on Maratha history. Tilak’s detailed programme published in the Kesari of 3 March 1896 for a ‘proper celebration’ at the festival at Raigarh on 15 April that year was certainly an attempt to regulate spontaneous celebrations and harness them for the nationalist cause:
The images of Shivaji and Ramdas will figure most prominently in the celebration . . . during the three days that it will last, lectures, sermons, dramatic representation (not of the sensual or obscene type), singing of historical ballads . . . will form the chief items on the programme . . . Things produced or manufactured in foreign countries, such as petroleum, candles, glassware . . . will be strictly eschewed at the celebration and only home-made articles will be brought . . . even at the possible sacrifice of some aesthetic attraction. Readings of the Dasbodh and Shivavijaya will be given during the three days . . . A specially composed ode in honour of Shivaji will be sung on the last day with Shivaji’s standard floating overhead. The mankaris, staff and volunteers will remain standing while the ode is being sung and will greet its close with shouts of Har Har Mahadev! The singing of the ode will be the most important function in the whole celebration.12
The Marathi paper Sudharak— edited by Tilak’s ideological opponent and long-time rival, Gopal Ganesh Agarkar, till his death in 1895, and thereafter by Sitarampant Deodhar—was foremost in opposing this use of Shivaji as a symbol for nationalist purposes. It insisted that his appeal was extremely localized to Maharashtra and that the symbol of a monarch who could not unite the country against foreign rule was inappropriate, especially at a time when national unity was crucial. On 29 May 1899, the
Sudharak asked: ‘Under what obligations are the Muhammadans or the Bengalees or the Rajputs to remember Shivaji? It is . . . clear that the festival has in it nothing that can make it national even among the Hindus.’ 13 Moderate newspapers that cautiously supported Tilak’s programme also commented on its special regional appeal. For example, on 25 April 1898, the Indu Prakash opined:
Wherever there is Hinduism, Shivaji’s name will be reverenced and we should not wonder if we hear of Shivaji’s birthday celebrations in Madras next year. He is essentially a national hero for all Hindus, and the Marathas may well rejoice that he was born among them. It is but natural that among the Marathas more than ordinary enthusiasm should be evoked by these celebrations . . .14
Tilak himself was aware of stretching this too much. In the Kesari of 9 April 1901, he painstakingly argued:
It does not matter if in different parts of India such celebrations are held in honour of different national heroes. Although the main object is to unite the whole of India as one nation, it cannot be denied that the whole Indian nation is made up of different smaller nations and that the solidarity of different parts taken by themselves is indispensable for, and by no means inconsistent with the general unity of the nation.15
Building on the success of both these festivals, in the same year, Tilak managed to gain control over the Sarvajanik Sabha and outsmart his longtime rivals Ranade and Gokhale, who resigned in disgust and wrote disparagingly about Tilak and his actions. But Tilak’s success was shortlived. The excessive involvement of the Sarvajanik Sabha under Tilak during the famine that gripped the Deccan in 1897 and their incitement to farmers to not pay taxes angered the government. They derecognized the Sabha as a body that had any claim to address the government on matters related to public policy. Tilak’s influence got neutralized even before it could create much impact.
Deeply inspired by Tilak, Vinayak and his friends too organized the first Shivaji Jayanti festival in Bhagur at the house of Marwari Seth Balmukund Maniram. Vinayak’s brilliant keynote speech left everyone, including Damodarpant, spellbound.
After Vinayak completed his primary school, Damodarpant insisted that he join Babarao in Nashik to pursue his education at the prestigious Shivaji School. Accordingly, the thirteen-year-old Vinayak left his hometown for the first time in pursuit of education and excellence. The two brothers stayed in a modest accommodation near the Kanadya Maruti Temple in Nashik. They cooked their own food as eating out meant losing one’s caste for a chaste Brahmin. But Vinayak firmly refuted such beliefs and gorged on the delicious jalebis at the Gangaram Hotel in the city.
Every fortnight, Damodarpant would come to Nashik to visit his sons. Being very attached to his father, Vinayak would eagerly wait for his arrival and become sad on the day he was scheduled to depart. His homesickness was further accentuated by the kind of classmates he had. Hardly anyone shared the kind of zeal for academics, current affairs or politics, squandering their time in mindless pursuits.
It is worth mentioning that Vinayak was the favourite student of all his teachers at school. Given his exceptional intelligence, sense of discipline and his poetry and writing skills, he emerged as the apple of their eyes. In fact, one of his teachers inspired Vinayak to send his article to the Nashik Vaibhav newspaper. After much scepticism, he wrote a piece on Hindu culture and its glory. The editor of the newspaper was surprised at the content, style and flow of the article and found it hard to believe that the author was a schoolboy. The essay was published in two parts and was widely appreciated all over Nashik.
The Lok Seva was another important newspaper in Nashik. Its editor and owner was the renowned theatre artist Anant Waman Barve. The newspaper was a veritable mouthpiece for Tilak’s work and carried several patriotic essays and articles about Tilak’s Ganapati and Shivaji festivals. Barve used to sing melodious patriotic songs in programmes and festivals that were regularly organized on the banks of the Godavari in Nashik. While most of his schoolmates would be gallivanting aimlessly by the riverbanks, Vinayak was an uninvited but regular attendee of all these events and nationalistic gatherings by the Godavari. Here, he heard some stirring speeches and melodious songs and constantly internalized all that he was hearing. His teachers introduced Vinayak to Barve as a poet and writer and this enabled easier access to future events. Barve also implored Vinayak to participate in the annual debate competition in Nashik. Although he was well past the application deadline, on Barve’s insistence Vinayak was given admission to the contest, which was merely three days thence. The topic was the same for all students and Vinayak was the last speaker as he had enrolled so late. Since most of what had to be said would have already been conveyed by earlier speakers, by the time the last speaker came to the podium audiences would normally get bored and leave. But Vinayak’s speech captivated them from the very beginning and they stayed rooted. The judges were quick in making their decision and Vinayak was unanimously declared the winner. The judges were however sceptical about the originality of Vinayak’s speech as they found it difficult to believe that a fourteen-year-old boy could write or conceive of subjects and topics in this mature manner. It was left to Barve and Vinayak’s teachers to adjudicate that the young lad was indeed a fine writer and a thinker. This was Vinayak’s first attempt at public speaking and he had effortlessly won his maiden attempt. People of Nashik began to talk about this talented young man with fiery oratorial skills.
Encouraged by this success, Vinayak began reading several Marathi books on public speaking to hone his innate skills. The various elements of constructing an argument, consolidating and concluding them, voice modulation, body language, intonation, command over language and such aspects of public speaking fascinated Vinayak. He worked hard on these skills to later become a master orator, someone who could mesmerize large crowds.
During these formative years, all the reading and reflecting made Vinayak question several beliefs and rituals that were blindly followed at that time. In fact, he had frequent arguments with Babarao on such matters. It was from this fire of doubt and agnosticism that his interest in philosophy and religion sprang. He began making critical evaluations of the scriptures and the Vedanta and engaged in debates and discussions with those stuck in rituals of religion, superstitions and a strong belief in either theism or atheism. Babarao’s spiritual quests took him to all kinds of godmen and saints, many of whom were quacks and would end up exploiting his naivety. Once in Nashik, Babarao took Vinayak to a sadhu staying in Panchavati’s Rama Dharamshala. He was told that the sadhu was a reincarnation of Saint Ramdas who had guided Shivaji in his conquest against the Mughals; that he had a vision of Vinayak’s future and was keen on meeting him. When Vinayak saw the sadhu, he told him that the only earnest desire in his life was to overthrow the British Empire through armed rebellion. The sadhu admonished him and asked him to abandon these silly and demoniac goals and become his disciple instead and serve him with devotion so that he could have a vision of God. Nothing happens without God’s will, and the British Empire too was God’s wish for India and Indians, and it is only when the Almighty desires that India might dream of liberation, he contended.
The illogical argument enraged Vinayak and he entered into a long altercation with the sadhu. How can a kingdom of thieves and dacoits be God’s wish?, he argued. And if it truly is, how does envisioning an overthrow of such a despotic regime make one demoniac? Isn’t the mobilization and the germination of the very thought of ending the rule also God’s handiwork? Finally, Babarao had to intervene and drag his irate brother home. Thus, right from his youth, rationality and logical arguments marked every aspect of Vinayak’s personality. He questioned even men of religion and beliefs that were considered sacrosanct.
Meanwhile, in 1896–97 the most fatal pandemic of plague struck India and particularly Maharashtra. The British authorities had no real idea of the causes or cure of the disease. Beneath the outwardly appearance of confidence was a great sense of alarm. Special Plague Officer Walter Charles Rand and Surgeon Captain W.W. Beveridge were dispatched to Poona in February 1897 as part of a Special Plague Committee (SPC) to contain the disease by any means. The governor of Bombay, Lord Sandhurst, through his private secretary, J.J. Heaton, insisted that in Poona ‘the plan of using soldiers by themselves must definitely be abandoned. No search party should be without a respectable native . . . The most careful, thorough and earnest attempt must be made to work with and not against the people . . . In the existing Municipal institutions and ward committees you have some kind of organization.’16
Despite these cautionary words from the governor, the British in general and Walter Rand, in particular, were keen to eradicate the plague quickly as it adversely affected their commercial interests. European countries were refusing to purchase goods from Indian territories as they feared that the epidemic might spread. The Government of India passed the Epidemic Diseases Act, 1897, that empowered authorities to take drastic steps to contain the plague. Ironically, by 12 March 1897, instead of doctors and nurses, 893 officers and men—both British and native—were placed on plague duty. It was incumbent on the principal occupant of every house to report any case of outbreak of plague or deaths caused by it in their family to the committee. In their zeal, Rand and his men ruthlessly searched every house to find plague victims, showing little respect even for places of worship, ill-treating old men and molesting women. Victims of plague were forced to vacate their houses overnight and leave the town to live in isolation camps. Their possessions were destroyed or burnt. At a time when the patients needed treatment, rest and recuperation, they were hounded out of their homes and all their properties and possessions destroyed to quarantine the town. Funerals were declared unlawful until the deaths were registered. This constant harassment by the soldiers caused a deep sense of hatred and resentment. Tilak thundered in the Kesari about the inhuman conduct of Rand’s men and criticized the methods adopted by the Plague Committee. ‘The Government should not have entrusted the execution of this order to a suspicious, sullen and tyrannical officer like Rand,’ noted Tilak.17
And then one day, on the evening of 22 June 1897, Poona shook to its very foundations. Walter Rand and his lieutenant, Charles Ayerst, were shot at. Rand lingered on for a few days before succumbing to his injuries; Ayerst died immediately. The assassins, it later emerged, were two brothers, Damodar Hari Chapekar and Balakrishna Hari Chapekar. It seemed like their actions were a protest and revenge against the repressive plague control measures that Rand had implemented. Who were the Chapekars who had in effect reignited the spark of revolution that had dimmed after Wasudev Balwant Phadke’s death?
The three Chapekar brothers—Damodar, Balakrishna and Vasudev— were driven by a revolutionary zeal of religion-based nationalism. Around 1885, their father, Hari Bhau, who was a kirtankar (professional singer of devotional songs) migrated to Poona from their native place Chinchwad. His young sons barely received any formal education. They were known to mock those who took English education and did not even spare Ranade or Tilak. In his autobiography, Damodar Chapekar writes: ‘My father had taught me the First English book at home. I studied the Second Book for four months in the New English School, but having in the meantime imbibed a dislike for the English language and left off studying it.’18
The young Chapekars were a witness to the upsurge of nationalistic feelings brought about by Tilak’s Ganapati and Shivaji festivals. They were volunteers at the festivals and actively participated in the melas, performing acrobatics and cultural programmes. But soon they were disillusioned even with these festivals and their grandiose arrangements. The ‘great deal of talk’ in these festivals ‘exasperated’ them. 19 They believed that the ostentatiousness involved would not have been something that even Shivaji, had he been alive, would have approved. The real tribute to Shivaji was not in talking about him or celebrating him in grandeur, but in picking up arms and fighting for the nation as their hero did. They dismissed the constitutional methods of the Congress, which they dismissed as a sham and a mere ‘talkative body’ and were not inspired even by the mass politics of extremist nationalists like Tilak.20
Damodar, whose views had inspired his two younger brothers, strongly believed that it was English education that had led to the moral degradation of Indians and diverted them away from their cultural moorings to the path of vice. The British Empire to him was not just political subjugation but also included social, religious and cultural. Damodar notes:
So strange is the influence of the study of English that if one simply intends to learn that language or if a child learns by heart only the first two or three letters of its alphabets, he begins at once to look upon his elders as fools and despises his good and ancient religion. If the mere odour of English education has this effect, where is the wonder if any righteous person who fully tastes it should turn an Englishman from top to toe and an earnest votary of the bottle? 21 . . . When the English assumed the administration of India they thought it necessary to extinguish the spirit of the Hindus by making them addicted to the vice of education.22
As devout Hindus, they found the British interference in their religious customs and practices reprehensible. The Scoble Bill was one such example of British interference. The general pro-Muslim policies of the British, including supporting Muslim claims when it came to matters of playing processional music outside mosques, angered the Chapekars. Incidentally, in 1894, Walter Rand had ruthlessly punished some respectable Hindus in Wai for playing musical instruments before a masjid, thus breaking government rules.23
After failing to get enlisted in the army despite several attempts, possibly because of the British policy of excluding Chitpawans from government services and the army, Damodar Chapekar notes:
A system of administration so cruel as that of the English cannot, even if search be made, be found, in any region of this globe. Far better were the tyrannical Yavana kings who with sword in hands actually cut the throats of men as if there were so many goats. But the English are perfidious and I positively declare that no other people can be found on this earth who are as villainous as they and who like them ruin others by a show of kindness . . . Hitherto there have been many cruel Yavana kings in India but they made no rules from excluding Hindus from particular appointments or for limiting the number of those open to them. 24
Damodar Chapekar created a group of more than a hundred young boys dedicated to the cause of armed revolution. This ‘Chapekar Club’ was also known as ‘Rashtra Hitecchu Mandali’ or society for promoting national interests. One of the tasks was to collect arms, which was difficult to procure in British territory and had to be purchased from the adjacent domain of the Nizam of Hyderabad. But they always suffered from a paucity of funds. 25 Elaborating on the activities of this Club, Damodar writes:
We used to teach the following exercises: wrestling, danpatta, kathi , lance exercises, high and long jumps and boxing. 4 to 6 in the evening was the appointed time . . . we also collected historical works containing accounts of warriors and established a library at the place . . . In the evening one of us two brothers used to give historical readings. Selecting some episode in ancient history, we used to deliberate upon it in a way suited to impress upon the minds of the boys a sense of self-respect and love for one’s own religion . . . Whenever in the course of our readings we came across descriptions of battles containing such terms and expressions as Morchebandi, Khandak, Ganimikava and Chapa , as well as names of arms we explained them with sufficient clarity to make them understand.26
The group decided to smear tar and disfigure the Queen Victoria statue in Bombay. After the act, Damodar, writing under the pseudonym ‘Dandapani’ (literally meaning ‘The one with a staff in hand’) to Suryoday , a local newspaper from Thane, notified the editor about his association with the group and made its aims and objectives explicitly clear.
We have formed an association called Dandapani. Our fixed determination is to die and kill others for the sake of our religion. It’s first achievement was the blackening of the face of the statue of the Queen of England who made a distinction between Natives and Europeans . . . This Dandapani Association will not be overawed by any one. Anyone who encourages immorality, whether the Queen or someone superior to her is the enemy of this association.27
But the ultimate path that the Chapekars chose was that of political assassination. They were inspired by tales of the Mahabharata and the Gita that spoke of how killing for swadharma, or one’s faith, and vanquishing evil by the forces of virtue were not immoral. On 22 June 1897, the Diamond Jubilee of Queen Victoria was being celebrated in Poona. Damodar and Balakrishna, each armed with a pistol, selected a spot near Ganeshkhind Road and waited for their victims in pitch darkness. Even as the official carriage was returning from Government House after the celebrations, the brothers exchanged their code words: ‘Gondya aala re aala ’ (Our target has come). Balakrishna leapt at the carriage and shot its occupant point-blank. He then realized that it was not Rand but his military escort, Ayerst, whom he had shot. The road was too dark for the coachman of the carriage that was following behind to notice what had happened in front. Balakrishna quickly signalled Damodar, who took his position and jumped into Rand’s carriage that followed and shot him in his head from the back. Rand was rushed to Sassoon Hospital where he succumbed to his injuries on 3 July 1897. The brothers slipped away in the darkness after accomplishing their task.
The British government was rudely awakened by these killings and announced a bounty of Rs 20,000 for information about the assassins. The Chapekars’ ex-associates, the Dravid brothers, turned informants of the government and passed on the details of the plot to the British. Based on this, the Chapekars were arrested and charged under Section 302 of the Indian Penal Code (IPC). In his confession recorded on 8 October 1897 before Chief Presidency Magistrate W.R. Hamilton, Damodar elaborated on the motivations behind the attack:
I went to Poona . . . the operations for the suppression of the plague were commenced . . . In search of houses a great zulum (atrocity) was practised by the soldiers. (They) entered the temples and brought out women from their houses, broke idols and burnt Pothis (holy books), we determined to revenge these actions but it was of no use to kill common people, it was necessary to kill the chief man. Therefore we determined to kill Mr Rand who was the chief.28
Balakrishna managed to escape, but once again with the information passed on by the Dravid brothers, the government managed to intercept him. To avenge the treachery of the Dravids, the youngest brother, Vasudev, along with Mahadev Vinayak Ranade and Khando Vishnu Sathe murdered them near their house in Sadashiv Peth on 8 February 1899. All of them were however rounded up by the police.
On 18 April 1898, Damodar Hari was hanged. The following year, Vasudev, Balakrishna and Ranade were also executed on 8 May, 10 May and 12 May respectively.
The assassination and the subsequent execution of the Chapekars caused a sensation all over Bombay Presidency. The stories of their chivalry, the trial details and the manner in which they embraced the gallows with verses from the Gita on their lips moved Vinayak immensely. He was incensed when several newspapers chided the Chapekars for being misguided and rash young men. While their actions lacked strategy and careful planning, to abuse martyrs who had laid down their lives for the country was something that Vinayak simply could not accept. He lost sleep for several nights after this. In a moment of intense emotion, he rushed to the idol of the Ashtabhuja Bhawani in his home town in Bhagur and poured his heart out to her. He made a fervent vow in front of his family goddess that he was committing himself and his life to free the motherland through armed struggle. He declared in her presence: ‘Shatrus maarta maarta mare to jhunjen! ’ (I will wage war against the enemy and slay them till my last breath). Little did he know that the innocent vow taken by a teenager was to have so many repercussions on so many people— from bloodshed, attacks, executions and incarcerations. But the seed of revolutionary thought was firmly sown that night in presence of the goddess and there was no looking back thereafter.
Vinayak even wrote a prayer in the Durga Dasa Vijay that he was composing in honour of the goddess, where he beseeched her to grant him the strength to follow up on this resolve. His associates burned copies of this work a few years later when the police raided their house suspecting conspiracy, lest it land up in the wrong hands. Vinayak also wrote a play on the Chapekars, titled Veershriyukta , to spread the spirit of revolution in Bhagur, and a local theatre group of Ranoo Darji was willing to stage it too but backed out in the last minute fearing consequences. Vinayak’s poem ‘Chapekarancha Phatka’ was a rage till even the 1910s and inspired youngsters across Maharashtra. Each time he sang or recited the poem, Vinayak would tremble with emotion and his voice would choke with both anger and sorrow.
Damodarpant was deeply worried by this revolutionary turn in his son’s nature. Although it was he who had instilled patriotism and a love for Tilak and his works in Vinayak from a young age, and was proud of his metamorphosis, seeing his son become so emotionally attached to the idea at such a young age, his constant talk of murdering the British, his many sleepless nights, restless behaviour, and pensive mood worried him. One night, Damodarpant came to Vinayak’s room and saw him breaking down while writing a poem. He picked up the paper and saw that his son was writing about the Chapekars. He complimented the poetry but then with great affection held his face with both his hands and told him: ‘Tatya, you are the only hope for our family, the centre of our household and the source of support for me. Don’t put your life at risk. You have no idea what the dreadful consequences are of the path that you are trying to tread. Continue your poetry; study well, become a famous man and then do whatever you wish.’29 Vinayak remained silent but told himself that nothing and nobody could now change his resolve.
The general tendency in Poona and the rest of Bombay Presidency was to assert that these revolutionary deeds were the work of isolated cranks. Even the Kesari did not support the Chapekars, and Tilak called the assassination a ‘shocking tragedy at Poona which we all deplore’, although he blamed the colonial high-handedness in dealing with the plague that led to ‘feelings of dissatisfaction’. 30 This was wordplay. Tilak did not go all out to criticize them but made a fleeting and cursory condemnation of the violence. It was public knowledge that he tacitly supported the Chapekars.
But it was the Kal , a newspaper edited by the indefatigable Shivram Mahadev Paranjpe (1864–1929), that published an editorial which appeared to argue that the Chapekars had acted according to what they believed to be the law of God—a law higher than that of man.31 Paranjpe was an old associate of Tilak. Following his brave editorials, Paranjpe was severely ostracized and was in fact barred by Dadabhai Naoroji from attending any Congress sessions, lest the organization got tainted.
The fiery articles of the Kal that shone with revolutionary zeal had a great impact on Vinayak and he became a diehard admirer of Paranjpe and the newspaper. In his own words:
Wherever I went, I would insist on reading the Kal and also used to read it out to other people . . . because there was no other journal that would (openly) justify the armed revolution . . . (and) if it (the Kal ) had not directly shaped my opinion, it certainly influenced my knowledge, understanding, linguistic style and enthusiasm . . . If at all I am to revere someone as the Guru of my revolutionary inspiration, it is certainly the Kal.32
An unexpected fallout of the Chapekar incident was the arrest of Tilak on charges of sedition under Section 124A. It produced as evidence a speech he had made in 1897 at the Shivaji festival and which had been reported in the Kesari a few days before the assassinations. The Bombay government claimed that an unsigned report on the Shivaji festival at which Tilak and others spoke, and a poem written under a pseudonym, which was far from unique in subject, opinion or rhetorical strategies were an incitement to ‘disaffection of the Government’.33
The poem ‘Shivaji’s Utterances’ (and signed ‘mark of the Bhawani Sword’) appeared in the editorial columns of the Kesari . In it, the eponymous figure laments the plight of India in a language that traffics in opacity. Its opening lines read: ‘By annihilating the wicked I lightened the great weight on the globe. I delivered the country by establishing Swarajya and by saving religion. I betook myself to shake off the great exhaustion which had come upon me. I was asleep, why then, did you my darlings awaken me?’
According to the unsigned report of the Shivaji festival held from 12 to 14 June 1897, Professor Jinsinwale, one of the prominent attendees, said in his lecture: ‘If no one blames Napoleon for committing two thousand murders in Europe, if Caesar is considered merciful though he needlessly committed slaughters in Gaul . . . many a time, why should so virulent an attack be made on Shri Shivaji Maharaja for killing one or two persons? The people who took part in the French Revolution denied that they committed murders, and maintained they were removing thorns from their path, why should not the same principle be made applicable to Maharashtra?’34
Histories of extraordinary violence were invoked in the article to draw attention to the double standards by which Indian political violence is deemed savagery, while the same in other parts of the world is feted as chivalry. Tilak reportedly said:
Let us even assume that Shivaji first planned and then executed the murder of Afzulkhan. Was this act of the Maharaja good or bad? This question, which has to be considered should not be viewed from the standpoint of even the Penal Code or even the Smritis of Manu or Yagnavalkya or even the principles of morality laid down in the western and eastern ethical systems. The laws, which bind society, are for common men like yourselves and myself. No one seeks to trace the genealogy of a Rishi nor to fasten guilt upon a king. Great men are above the common principles of morality. These principles fell in their scope to reach the pedestal of great men. Did Shivaji commit a sin in killing Afzulkhan or now [sic]? The answer to this question can be found in the Mahabharata itself. Shrimat Krishna’s advice [teaching] in the Geeta is to kill even our teachers [and] our kinsmen. No blame attaches [to any person] if [he] is doing deeds without being actuated by a desire to reap the fruit [of his deeds]. Shri Shivaji Maharaja did nothing with a view to fill the small void of his own stomach [i.e., from interested motives]. With benevolent intentions he murdered Afzulkhan for the good of others . . . do not circumscribe your vision like a frog in a well; get out of the Penal Code, enter into the extremely high atmosphere of the Shrimat Bhagavad Geeta and then consider the actions of great men.35
Cutting across ideological barriers, several national leaders such as Seth Dwarkadas, Y.V. Nene, Surendranath Banerjea and Dadabhai Naoroji rallied around Tilak. As Surendranath Banerjea wrote: ‘For Mr Tilak my heart is full of sympathy, my feelings go forth to him in his prison-house. A nation is in tears.’ 36 Tilak was provided financial assistance by the Bengali nationalists who even established a Tilak Defence Fund. They even got the famous Calcutta barrister, L.P.E. Pugh, to defend Tilak in court and paid his fees of Rs 10,000. 37 The trial took place over six days in Bombay (8 to 14 September 1897). However, it took the jury only forty minutes to arrive at a verdict of guilty, by a vote of six to three—six Europeans and three Indians. Tilak was sentenced to eighteen months’ rigorous imprisonment but he was released a few months before the end of his sentence.
After his conviction, there was an outpouring of support for Tilak all over the country. The front page of the moderate newspaper, Bengalee , of 25 September 1897 sported a black border (as did Amrita Bazar Patrika and Indian Mirror in Calcutta) as a mark of protest and stated:
This number of the Bengalee appears with a black border out of respect and sympathy for Mr Tilak. We believe him to be innocent of the charge laid to his door. No native of India, certainly, no one possessed of intelligence and capacity of Mr Tilak (and even his enemies must admit that he is a man of exceptional ability), can be otherwise than loyal to the British Government.38
The equally moderate The Hindu in Madras of 15 September 1897, lamented:
The conviction of Mr Tilak has cast a gloom over the whole country. The news has been received everywhere with intense grief and with a sense of humiliation. It is not that law and justice have been vindicated, but that the policy of reaction which for some time the enemies of the Indian people have been urging, has triumphed.39
Allahabad’s Advocate , another moderate newspaper, noted:
The sensation created by Mr Tilak’s conviction throughout the length and breadth of India is natural . . . The State trial has made his name a household word, and we think we are not exaggerating to say that every Indian who reads newspapers, or keeps himself in any way in touch with public opinion feels strongly for him on his misfortune, while there are thousands, nay, lakhs of men, who consider him a martyr to his country.40
~ While the spirit of revolution and political activism had fully possessed Vinayak, Babarao was largely untouched by it. He managed to pass fifth grade in English, but slowly his interest in studies waned. He carried on till the seventh grade driven by sheer fear of his father. Babarao was strangely attracted to two totally contradictory sets of people—on the one hand, god-men with long, matted hair and ash-smeared faces, and on the other, theatre artists with painted faces. Late-night discussions about drama, songs and dance, along with tea and snacks were his favourite pastimes. And during the day, he roamed around in the company of sadhus, trying to understand tantra. Around 1898–99, there was news about Swami Vivekananda teaching the tenets of Raja Yoga to anyone who stayed with him at his Mayawati Ashram. 41 Babarao, who had already begun showing signs of renunciation from family life, wanted to run away and take spiritual initiation under him. The Savarkars would have lost Babarao to both family and revolution had it not been for the scourge of plague that hit Maharashtra yet again—this time, closer home.
In 1899, when Nashik was hit by the plague, Damodarpant forced Babarao and Vinayak to discontinue school for a while and return to Bhagur. When the epidemic spread to Tryambakeshwar where Vinayak’s sister, Maina, and brother-in-law, Bhaskar Rao Kale, lived, Damodarpant advised them to shift to Bhagur as well. But as luck would have it, by the time everyone got to Bhagur, the plague had spread to Bhagur too. Given the repressive plague measures of the government, people concealed information about any plague victim in their houses. The death of rats would be passed off as a casual attack by a neighbourhood cat. The Savarkar household too kept shut about the death of rats in their courtyard and secretly disposed them. The plague soon hit the neighbourhood where the Savarkars lived. Vinayak sat by the window all night, frightfully listening to the cries of pain of several afflicted neighbours. He wanted to make a will that in case he were to die due to the plague, all his works, Durga Dasa Vijay, Sarvasaar Sangrah and other poems, should be posthumously published.
Spurred by a sense of duty and compassion, Damodarpant involved himself wholly in the relief operations, despite being warned against it. One evening, after returning from his visits to the houses of friends who were hit by plague, Damodarpant seemed very distraught. Without speaking a word, he retired upstairs to the upper floor of the house. Bal, who usually slept with his father, was strictly told not to come near him. Instead, he summoned Vinayak to him and with tears in his eyes said that his joints were hurting badly and it seemed to him that he might have contracted plague too. Vinayak recounts in his memoirs that right from childhood it was his nature that each time he was faced by a crisis, he would become cold and stone hearted, and turn action-oriented sans any emotions; he would look for ways to solve the problem on hand. He quickly brought medicines for his father and the family decided to keep the whole matter a secret, lest the police get to know and evict them. Bal was asked to play sentinel by the door and not let anyone inside.
Once, when Vinayak saw Bal strolling away from his designated spot at the door, he yelled at him in anger. The little boy came to his elder brother with tears in his eyes, telling him that his thighs too ached badly. He had contracted plague as well. An aghast Vinayak asked his sister-in-law, Yesu Vahini, to tend to Bal, while he would care for Damodarpant. Vinayak and Yesu eagerly waited for Babarao to return from Tryambakeshwar where he had gone to fetch Maina and her husband. Damodar’s condition rapidly worsened. The plague caused intense thirst, but they were not to give him water, even as he cried loudly for it, turning uncontrollably violent a few times. Babarao returned the next morning and seeing the condition at home, advised Maina and her husband to move elsewhere. That very night, on 5 September 1899, Damodarpant became violent and was locked up on the upper floor of the house. When they opened the door in the morning, they discovered that their beloved father had passed away. At the tender age of sixteen, Vinayak was orphaned.
The family could not even grieve his death because Bal’s condition was still precarious. With Damodarpant’s death, there was no way they could continue living in the house as the government would evict them to the segregation camps. With the help of a family friend, they got a little hut built for themselves on the outskirts of the city. Meanwhile, they had to spend a few nights at the Mahadev and Ganesh temples in town. Their paternal uncle, Bapu Kaka, came to his unfortunate nephews who had lost both their parents at such a young age. The ordeal was so physically and emotionally exhausting that Vinayak recollects in his memoirs that they felt they would collapse from sheer fatigue any moment. Unfortunately for them, in just a few days, Bapu Kaka also contracted plague.
The crisis that the Savarkar family faced was unprecedented. The place that they took shelter at was notorious for dacoits who they feared might loot them, knowing they were the erstwhile jagirdars. The desolate location had a cremation ground nearby; wails of people, the smell of burning corpses and the cries of owls and wolves made it an eerie experience. Vinayak recounts how a street dog came and kept them company all night during those frightful days and if any stranger came near the family, he would bark and scare them away.
The news of the crisis that befell the Savarkar family reached Nashik. One of Damodarpant’s friends, Ramabhau Datar, whom the former had helped when his father was afflicted by plague, brought all of them to Nashik. It was a Herculean task given the strict government vigil on people moving across towns. He kept the Savarkars at his house despite strong protests from the entire locality to not let them in because it was a communicable disease. Unfortunately, after reaching Nashik and within ten days of his younger brother’s demise, Bapu Kaka also passed away. The tragedy kept compounding with each passing day.
Bal was still suffering from the disease and was admitted to the plague hospital. Babarao refused to leave his side and tended to him at the hospital all day. There was a European nurse in the hospital who was extremely harsh in her treatment of patients and many felt that suffering the disease was much better than tolerating her rudeness and unskilled handling. When she tried the same with Bal, Babarao picked a quarrel with her, reported her to the senior doctor and also had the nurse fired. Thereafter, till the replacement filled in the nurse’s shoes, without caring for his own health, Babarao volunteered to nurse the patients himself. He was not allowed to come back home from the hospital or interact with others outside the hospital. It was only Vinayak and Yesu Vahini who stayed back at the outhouse of the Datars, worried every minute about what might be happening at the hospital. Vinayak would take food for his brothers each day and wait outside. He was not allowed to meet or interact with Babarao because of the fear of contracting the disease. His biggest nightmare of Babarao also falling victim came true one morning. Vinayak was crestfallen.
However, Babarao and Bal were cured, and by then, the plague too subsided in Nashik. The two returned home and in a few months recuperated completely. The family decided to settle down in Nashik itself.
That dreadful night, when the Savarkars ran in mortal fear, along with little Bal who was suffering from high fever, Vinayak bid a permanent farewell to Bhagur, the land of his parents and ancestors. A new life awaited him in Nashik.