The renaissance in the mainstream English language publishing industry is producing an interesting churn of books. Predictably, some of the focus is on India’s struggle for Independence from the British.
Crimson Spring by Navtej Sarna and Independence by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni explore specific times and tales via historical fiction, whereas Vikram Sampath’s Bravehearts of Bharat and P Sainath’s The Last Heroes are non-fiction works that trace the contributions of individuals to the freedom struggle. Sanjeev Sanyal’s latest, Revolutionaries, is an addition to the latter, and stands apart for its broad survey of the rough and rugged terrains that catapulted ordinary youth to pick up arms against a brutish British government, instead of merely offering concise biographies of freedom fighters. Almost academic rigour in writing and an information download are the hallmarks of the book.
At the outset, Sanyal clarifies the aims of his endeavour:
“The idea here is to balance the usual one-sided narrative. India achieved its freedom due to the complex interplay of both these (violent and non-violent) movements, and it is not possible to meaningfully separate them.” The implication here is of a frustration with straight-line narratives that exalt the non-violent protest aspect of the freedom struggle spearheaded by Mahatma Gandhi, and negotiations by the Indian National Congress as a political powerhouse, bypassing decades of armed rebellion, by which trains were derailed, armoury or treasury looted and vicious British officers shot dead.
The author clarifies that his methodology uses the framework of Complex Adaptive System, which derives from “interactions between a host of factors—grand social-economic forces, geography, the action of individuals and of not-so-great individuals, culture, ideology, technology, sheer luck and perhaps the occasional divine intervention”. Another factor that is at play here as in most writing is the political. The choice of words, each illustration or event included in the book is a personal and political act.
The first recorded “unofficial” violent action for nationalist causes against a British individual was in June 1897 undertaken by the Chapekar brothers when they mistakenly killed Charles Ayerst, the assistant, before they could assassinate Walter Rand, Poona’s Chief Plague Commissioner. Thereafter, the book explores the backgrounds, main actors and events as they escalate, spread out over the subcontinent and prove a form of guerrilla warfare that forces the Raj on the backfoot.
As an introduction to radical groups in the freedom movement, this is quite a foundational text. Much of the book outlines individuals and group campaigns such as the Anushilan Samiti, Jugantar group, the Ghadar Movement, Khilafat Movement, Quit India Movement, Indian Independence League, etc. Many radicals whose names are lost in the newer generation’s info smog revive with honour in these pages. And figures such as Bhagat Singh, Rashbehari Bose, Bagha Jatin, Basant Kumar Biswas, Lala Lajpat Rai, Chittaranjan Das, Chandrashekhar Azad and MN Roy among a host of names, both known and unknown, today are placed as incredible heroes against the backdrop of tyranny.
Though the fact that Aurobindo Ghosh’s brother swore with a sword and the Bhagwad Gita to the cause of the freedom movement is still just how every Hindu in India swears in court even today, bar the sword. And Shakti worship, as a belief system among the revolutionaries, is owed more to an inordinate percentage of Bengalis being shakt and these nationalists, merely a subset.
Another important addition the text makes to commonly held beliefs about the freedom movement is the many international efforts by foreigners and Indians abroad that bulwarked this process. Thought leadership came from Italy’s Mazzini and Garibaldi by example; guidance and philosophical advice from Japan, both before and after Netaji’s INA involvement; Germany ready to supply arms; Indians in California, Canada and even in London, who mobilised forces, funds and sympathy for the cause.
The power of this book is the author’s extraordinary ability to pan from the fact-laden unravelling of the era’s political ramifications to life-like pen portraits of the leaders within historical events, yet keeping the pace for the narrative and the reader alive. A rich cache of photographs is an additional delight that provides a few windows into all that is sacred to every free Indian. The book ends on this note: “Netaji, ‘The Leader’, will permanently stand, taking the salute to not just the National War Memorial but to all future Republic Day parades. He had said ‘Dilli Chalo’ in 1943, and has finally arrived at the heart of the Republic.”