Landing Gandhi

In Marseilles last week a large inquisitive fishwife elbowed her way toward the gangplank of the S. S. Rajpntana to see what the gawking crowd was staring at. Having reached a point of vantage she suddenly recoiled in disgust.

"Quel Horreur!" cried she. "A man wearing lingerie!"

The man in lingerie was none other than that pious midget the Mahatma Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi. He had amplified his customary loin cloth with a scarf thrown over his shoulders, and a cheap watch dangled from his waist. Perspiring porters rushed ashore with St. Gandhi's clattering collection of stew pans, his mattress, his cans of goat's milk and his suitcase. But there was no pourboires from the Mahatma.

"I am as poor as a church mouse," said he. flashing a toothless smile, "I have nothing for you. Beside I don't want to bribe you for performing a mere public duty."

The porters hitched their belts and grunted in disgust. A heavy mustached customs inspector advanced ponderously.

"Cigarets? Cigars? Alcohol? Firearms or narcotics?" he demanded.

"Oh no," smirked St. Gandhi. "I neither smoke nor drink. Besides, being an advocate of nonviolence. I never carry firearms."

His baggage was whisked open. It contained:

3 spinning wheels

3 looms

1 can goat's milk

1 package dried raisins

1 copy Thoreau's Civil Disobedience

1 set false teeth

6 fresh diapers

Eager reporters almost bowled the little man over despite the precautions of his faithful follower Mira Bei. formerly Miss Madeline Slade, daughter of a British admiral. St. Gandhi grew querulous.

"I believe in equality for everyone except reporters and photographers. I detest photographers." He hitched up his loin cloth and seated himself in compartment No. 13 (First Class) of the Paris Express.

At Lyons someone presented him with a goat, which was promptly placed in the baggage car. The special train reached Paris at 6 a. m. Even at that hour at least 500 people were waiting outside a police cordon for a sight of the Saint. The Mahatma emerged briefly and remarked that Paris looked much the same as it had when first he saw it 40 years ago.

At Folkestone, St. Gandhi picked his way through the puddles and clambered into the front seat of an automobile. Careful British police whisked him to London where he arrived in high spirits, flashing his pink gums at the welcoming throngs. He was taken to Kingsley Hall Settlement House, whose fluttering proprietress, a Miss Muriel Lester, had been eagerly awaiting him for weeks (TIME, July 13). Among the volunteer workers of the Settlement House eager to skim the Mahatma's goat's milk were the Misses Frances Perry of Topeka, Kan., Mildred Osterhaut of Vancouver, B. C. and Camille Solomon of No. 552 West 150th Street, New York.

At the Friends Meeting House. St. Gandhi was introduced by Poet-Illustrator Laurence Housman to a gathering of Hindus and Socialists, sprinkled with Quakers. Said he:

"The Congress of Indian Nationalists wants freedom unadulterated for those dumb and semi-starved millions. The Congress has chosen as a means of attaining this truth and nonviolence. I am aware that not all Congressmen have lived up to that ideal and the Congress will deserve the curses of the world if it acts contrary to it."

After his speech the Mahatma admitted that he had just received a large white petticoat from an infuriated Briton with a demand that he "cover his nudity with it."

"I shall preserve the petticoat." cackled the Mahatma. "It really is the oddest souvenir of my already large collection."

The Federal Structures Committee of the Indian Round Table Conference was scheduled to open on Monday. Immediately there was a snag. Monday is St. Gandhi's day of silence.

"If the meeting is held on Monday I shall be placed in a most embarrassing position," said he. "When I took the vow of silence I made only three exceptions: First, if I am in distress and can only be assisted by speaking. Second, if somebody else is in distress who can be helped by my speaking. Third, if exceptional circumstances prevail such as an unexpected call from the Viceroy or other high official who must be seen in the interest of the cause. Thus my appearance at the committee meeting on Monday can only come under the third exception, but only by a considerable stretch of meaning." Eventually he did attend the Monday conference, to listen but not to speak. Accompanied by his faithful Mrs. Sarojini Naidu carrying a thermos bottle full of goat's milk and a bag of nuts, he arrived in a small Wolseley saloon upholstered in scarlet leather. Dignified Sir Samuel Hoare attracted no little attention by popping suddenly from the interior of a small Baby Austin. Despite the secrecy of hotel employes, reporters discovered that St. Gandhi had had a secret conference with Scot MacDonald in the swank Dorchester Hotel.

"What is the name of that building?" asked St. Gandhi on his way back.

"That, Mahatma, is Buckingham Palace," explained a guide.

"H'm, it looks like a nice place," said St. Gandhi and continued his walk.

U. S. listeners were able to hear the little man in his first radio broadcast last week.* Several radio stations claimed credit for the hookup. It was due to the enterprise of Newark's WOR alone. At the appointed time St. Gandhi refused to be hustled from his dates and milk; his flustered hostess, Miss Muriel Lester of Kingsley House, was forced to ad lib for many minutes. At length the Mahatma approached the microphone, prayed for a few moments silently. Then millions of U. S. listeners heard his first words: "Do I have to speak into this thing?"

Without notes, speaking slowly, distinctly, the Mahatma talked for 20 minutes. Throughout the broadcast the voices of children playing in the streets outside could be heard. Said he:

"I have no hesitation whatsoever in inviting all the great nations of the earth to give their hearty cooperation to India in her mighty struggle.

"I am painfully conscious of our own weaknesses. We represent in India all the principal religions of the earth and it is a matter of real humiliation to confess that we are a house divided against itself, that we Hindus and Mussulmans are flying at one another's throats.

"It is a matter of still deeper humiliation to me that we Hindus regard several million of our kith and kin as too degraded even for our touch. I refer to the so-called untouchables. . . .

"The time was, not very long ago, when every village was self-sufficient in regard to the two primary human wants, food and clothing. Unfortunately for us the East India Co. by means which I would prefer not to describe, destroyed that supplementary village industry, and the millions of spinners who had become famous through the cunning of their deft fingers for drawing the finest thread, such as has never yet been drawn by any modern machinery. ... No matter what may be said to the contrary it is a historical fact that before the advent of the East India Co. these villagers were not idle, and he who wants may see today that these villagers are idle. . . .

"May I not, then, on behalf of these semi-starved millions, appeal to the conscience of the world to come to the rescue of a people dying for regaining its liberty?"

*Microphones are not new to the Mahatma. Because of his low voice, many of his speeches are amplified.

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