Srinivasa Sastri’s melancholia that clearly arose from a general sense of being cutoff from mainstream political life in India during the years leading up to the Indian National Congress’s QUIT INDIA Movement — and thereafter too until his death in 1946 — was perhaps worsened by declining health. It is documented that Sastri suffered from acute angina pectoris from around 1923, which handicapped him for the rest of his life, a fact that he acknowledged implicitly through his lifestyle and writings, though no extensive personal medical diary is publicly cited.
Sastri wrote and spoke about his delicate health condition which he suffered for many years. In detailed biographical recollections, it is described how he experienced chest pain and physical weakness, especially in his later years. For instance, during one episode of severe attack of chest pain, those around him noticed his distress and efforts to manage the pain with calm perseverance. He even expressed a wish to listen to devotional music during his painful moments, reflecting a spiritual and composed approach to his ailment.
To his close friends, Sastri seemed to have at times lamented in conversations about the time-consuming care of his frail body, which he felt interfered with his work and productivity. He spoke candidly about the demands of maintaining his physical health due to his heart condition while continuing his intellectual and literary pursuits.
Sastri’s mood of loneliness is reflected in brief autobiographical essays in Tamil language that he penned in the year 1942. Here below are a few Tamil passages from his book in ‘மீண்டும் வாழ்ந்தால்’ (Meendum Vazhndhaal, “If I Live Again”)‘ along with English translations. Clearly they reflected his utter disenchantment with politics and the fading relevance of his moderate liberal ideals and that of his very own conception of “ahimsa” which he envisioned as the upholding of Non-violence not only in thought, word and deed, but more importantly, in demonstrably Dharmic terms too and which is what, he felt, rendered his philosophy of Ahimsa purer perhaps than Mahatma Gandhi’s or Nehu’s?
“நான் ஒரு தாழ்ந்த மண்ணின் குண்டு போலவே, என்னையும் எழுப்பக்கூடியது எதுவும் இல்லை. இந்திய லிபரல் பாகுபாடு முற்றிலும் முடிந்துவிட்டது — சில வருடங்களாக இங்கு உயிரின் ஊற்றே இல்லாமல் மௌனமாகக் கருகிக் கொண்டிருக்கிறது. இத்தகைய உலகில் நம்மை அவர்கள் விரும்பமாட்டார்கள் என்பது தெளிவாக தெரிகிறது.”
“I am like a clod of miserable earth, which nothing can galvanize. The Indian Liberal Federation is entirely dead — for several years now it has been quietly dissolving without any sign of life. In such a world, it is clear that we are not wanted.”
“சிறு ஒரு பண்பாட்டுக் கூட்டமைப்பாக இருந்த இந்த லிபரல் கூட்டமைப்பு, இப்போது இயல்பாகவும் அமைதியாகவும் சிதறி கரைகிறது. அதற்கு ஏதாவது சிறப்புக் கடைசி நிகழ்ச்சி வேண்டுமோ என்று நினைப்பதில்லை.”
“This Liberal federation, which was once a small cultural association, is now naturally and quietly dispersing and dissolving. I do not think any special final ceremony is needed for it.”
“என்னுடைய சிந்தனைகள், உயிரின் ஈடுபாடுகள் இப்போது குறைந்து வருவதற்குச் சாத்தியமான காரணங்கள் அவ்வளவாகவே உள்ளன. நான் அரசியலில் இருந்து அங்கேப் பின்பற்றிப் போனேன், ஆனால் இதயத்தில் அந்தப்போதும் மற்றவர்களுக்கு காட்டிய கண்ணோட்டம் அதுவே தொடர்கிறது.”
“My thoughts and life’s engagements have increasingly diminished for understandable reasons. I have withdrawn from active politics, but the outlook I always held toward others continues in my heart.”
These passages reveal Sastri’s bleak sense of political isolation and resignation as his moderate political vision became marginalized during the rise of radical nationalist leadership like Jawaharlal Nehru’s. They express his quiet acceptance of the fading role of liberal constitutionalism in the Indian independence movement, reflecting his deep disenchantment with the political climate of his time.
Amidst the political turmoil and moral turbulence of his times, Rt. Hon’ble Srinivasa Sastri may perhaps, deep inside his heart, have felt that he had consigned himself to the wrong side of History… But then not once did he ever express weakness of will to plough his own lonely furrow; nor ever did he waver in his convictions. The Bengali poetic line of Rabindranath Tagore “Jôdi Tor Dak Shune Keu Na Ase Tôbe Ekla Chôlo Re (“If no one responds to your call, then go your own way alone” was perhaps his inward motto. And to Sastri alone perhaps amongst all others of his generation, would the two verses below in the “Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard“ of the English poet, Thomas Gray, most befit:
"Full many a gem of purest ray serene
The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear:
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.
"Th' applause of listening senates to command,
The threats of pain and ruin to despise,
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,
And read their history in a nation's eyes".
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In his own words seen above, Sastri had said that although he had “withdrawn from active politics”… his “outlook held towards others” nonetheless continued in his heart. In other words, neither did his sense of political isolation nor his cold-shouldering by his colleagues in the freedom movement, and nor his frail health condition, broke his indomitable spirit that made him still a man whose erudite opinions and awesome moral presence could never be ignored at any time… not even by the Viceroy of the British Government nor by Mahatma Gandhi.
From his home in Mylapore, Madras, Sastri often took up cudgels on behalf of his fellow-compatriots, Gandhi and Nehru, by writing strong, extremely articulate missives to the Government of India. Below are reproduced two of those brave, stinging yet polite and eloquent letters.
On 24th October 1943, Sastri wrote to the British Viceroy in India Lord Archibald Percival Wavell. He was appointed and took office as Viceroy in June 1943, succeeding Lord Linlithgow who was the Viceroy during the earlier part of the year including the terrible Bengal famine for which Prime Minister Winston Churchill had been squarely responsible, as it came to light later. Lord Wavell served as Viceroy from 1943 to 1947.
To H. E. THE VICEROY
Your Excellency,
My heart misgives as I think of the many delicate and intricate tasks that await you. We have been assured of your resolution, independence of judgement and liberal outlook. That is satisfactory, but not sufficient. Your training must have exalted obedience high above all other virtues and made you impatient of the slowness and caution of diplomacy and the compromises of parliamentary negotiation. Besides, the Indian politician’s attitude, suspicious and soured by generations of deferred hope, may be a puzzle and soon become your despair. Can you look beyond the narrow circle of official advisers and invite to your aid the patriotism of the land, which now is held at arm’s length, because it will not neglect Indian honour and Indian welfare? Can you see, in men and women branded as disloyal, eager colleagues in the service of India and of the Empire? Anxious eyes and ears from every corner will be directed towards New Delhi to find out whether you “ weigh well” and not merely “maxwell.”
Sastri’s delightful punning on the name of the British Viceroy’s name of “Wavell” with “weigh well” and “maxwell” could not have gone unnoticed or grudgingly admired even by the British!
“Anxious eyes and ears from every corner will be directed towards New Delhi to find out whether you ‘weigh well’ and not merely ‘maxwell‘” was Sastri’s pointed and brilliant play on words referencing Sir Reginald Maxwell, who was the Home Member of the Government of India at that time.
In historical context, Sir Reginald Maxwell was a prominent British official involved in the administration and political affairs, often associated with repressive measures during the period. Sastri’s phrase “weigh well” meant the Viceroy’s actions was going to be judged on their merit and effectiveness ( i.e. how well he performs and carries weight in his role), rather than being merely another “Maxwell“—alluding to Sir Reginald Maxwell’s controversial reputation.
The trenchant literary usage of a pun by Sastri was a veiled advice to the Viceroy to abandon the repressive policies often linked to Maxwell. The phrase in fact captured the expectation of Indian leaders and the public during a critical period in 1943, awaiting whether the Viceroy would act justly and wisely amid the intense political unrest and demands from Indians following the Quit India movement.
Thus, “weigh well” contrasted the idea of true leadership and responsibility with the negative connotations surrounding “Maxwell”— the name that symbolized heavy-handed, unjust governance. This was Sastri’s trademark way of conveying subtly yet sharply how large the political stakes for the British administration in India at the time were and how fraught with risks for Lord Wavell’s helmsmanship.
In the same acerbic but polite vein, and in the same letter, Sastri continued:
“I will ask leave to say another word. The Secretary of State (reference to Leopold Charles Amery, the Secretary of State for India and Burma from 1940 to 1945 under Prime Minister Winston Churchill. Amery was known for his deep interest in British India and the British Empire and often clashed with Churchill on Indian policy. He was born in India and was fluent in Sanskrit, giving him a unique connection to India among British officials of that era) has declared, I fear, that British Parliamentary democracy may not suit India and advised us to invent a new type of popular government for ourselves. I am not known to be an uncharitable critic; but I find it hard to beheve that he can be serious. What Britain does not know and has not tried, she cannot conscientiously recommend to a people less experienced or guide them in operating it. For a century and a half, we have studied British institutions and admired them. When Mr Montagu ( ie. Edwin Montagu, the Secretary of State for India from 1917 to 1922) framed his proposals (for reforms of British Rule over India) and published them for criticism in India, some of us would have preferred an unremovable executive (i.e. a Presidential form of government). I was among these. But he was all for the system “ins” and “outs” and the majority of our leaders were attracted by the excitement and struggle incidental to recurring trials of parliamentary skill and strategy.
For twenty years and more we have practised it and become used to it. To pronounce us unfit now and send us about in quest of another plan is to hold up things indefinitely, to strew the land with apples of discord and create such confusion as to imperil the constitutional progress so far achieved. If it was intended to punish us for venturing to look forward to further progress in the same dircetion, Mr Amery’s advice would become intelligible.
Before we become much older, however, his attempt will encounter the fate of Canute’s command to the sea. Not in these days can a nation’s freedom be denied or delayed with impunity.
Yours sincerely
V. S. SRINIVASAN
Sastri’s reference to “Canute’s command to the sea….” is so very apt indeed to describe the then prevailing political context of rising and even rather militant spirit of Indian Nationalism in the country and to which he was drawing the Viceroy’s special attention. It was a proverbial reference to the legend in modern politics at that time in world affairs when allusion “King Canute’s arrogance” of “attempting to stop the tide” was a dire warning to all mighty empires of the world.
King Canute of England (1016-1035 CE reign) set his throne by the sea shore and commanded the incoming tide to halt and not to wet his feet and robes. Yet “continuing to rise as usual [the tide] dashed over his feet and legs without respect to his royal person”. Then the king leapt backwards, saying: ‘Let all men know how empty and worthless is the power of kings, for there is none worthy of the name, but He whom heaven, earth, and sea obey by eternal laws.'” He then hung his gold crown on a crucifix, and never wore it again “to the honour of God the almighty King”.
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At the conclusion of the Second World War, the British Government became very enfeebled and it realised that its grip over its colonial rule in India was slipping away and would soon have to give way sooner or later.
Her Majesty’s Government thus organised what was called a series of conferences called “The Peace Conference” in London. Leading Indian political leaders were expected to participate in those round-table Peace Conferences to deliberate upon and put forward ideas for shaping India’s post-war future, influencing global peace settlements, and pressing for Indian self-determination.
Sastri advocated that Mahatma Gandhi, being recognized as the world’s foremost apostle of peace, should participate in those international efforts directed at negotiating peace with the British and India’s status after the war.
Gandhi, however, refused to participate in the main international peace conferences due to his deep distrust of the British government’s motives and process. He saw the conferences not as genuine efforts to resolve India’s political aspirations, but as British devices to divert attention from colonial imperatives and perpetuate division among Indian communities—especially over communal questions (Hindu, Muslim, and Dalit interests). Gandhi felt that such conferences would not deliver real independence and that his presence could be used to falsely signal Indian endorsement of a British-driven process and agenda. He also believed his efforts were best directed at mass movements and local negotiations, rather than at forums he felt did not respect India’s fundamental right to self-determination.
Sastri was dismayed by Gandhi’s stubborn rejection of the British Government initiatives to hold the Peace Conferences as a prelude to eventual transfer of power to Indian leadership. In a passionate letter dated October 24, 1943, Srinivasa Sastri once again expressed his deep disappointment over the Mahatma’s political stance and tried to persuade him to change his mind. The letter — one of the last few ones perhaps he sent to Gandhi — was written in Sastri’s inimitably eloquent style. But it is not without significance to note, that departing from his old habit of addressing Gandhi in all his letters as “Dear Brother“, Sastri in this letter addressed him as “Dear Mahatma”! That departure in itself told a story of the imperceptible estrangement that had crept into the relations between the two kindred souls.
FROM: V. S. SRINIVASAN
TO MAHATMA GANDHI
Dear Mahatma,
I pen these words in anguish. The days are hard for our motherland. Fain would I know how you feel so that no random words of mine might add to the wretchedness and desolation which fill every minute of your life. Bear with me once more. At similar crises before, it has been my unenviable lot to address you with the harshness of unheeding truth but in accents of love.
The people of India, for whom you have slaved these thirty years as no one has done, lie prostrate in the deadly grasp of hunger, destitution and stark despair. A dismal sense of frustration oppresses them like a nightmare. Their trust in you, however, is the same, if possible, tenderer and purer for your sufferings and sorrows.
Promising plans are promising only so far as you may work them out. Proposals from any quarter are canvassed, but only so long as the execution stage is not reached; then they ask for you and speculation stops.
Officials in their way and for their reasons, unofficials in their way and for their reasons, all alike turn to you. Only on half a dozen occasions have human hearts yielded themselves up in such complete thrall to one without birth, beauty of form, possessions, force of arms or honours to distribute. Every true Indian is proud that he can call you his fellow-countryman, and those that you have honoured with your friendship are among the blessed ones of their generation. Being one of these, I have used my privileged position now and then to remonstrate against the way you have allowed the doctrine of “ahimsa,” of which you are the unanointed apostle, to be muddled in its application to the work of the Congress. Your answer is that you always meant to employ it in the furtherance of national aims and could not help the lapses. You add too, with humility all your own, that you are not a saint strayed among politicians, but a politician appearing like a saint and not to be judged by the highest standards. I am, however, unreconciled and own to a feeling of grief that one so near the summit of purity should not reach it.
Dear brother, an opportunity has come, the like of which never was and never will be for generations. At the ensuing Peace Conference, which may meet sooner than most people expect, the affiliated nations will seek ardently for brave and honoured advocates of justice, equality and brotherhood without distinction of race, colour or religion. You must be there. Who, if not you?
War must be banished for ever from the earth and all possibility of its recurrence provided against so far as it can be provided against by human fore-sight. Would you he missing on that supreme occasion? No, a thousand times No. Pacifism, non-violence, ahimsa whenever and wherever these words are pronounced, the name of Gandhi will occur to the minds of people all over the earth. What should keep you from bearing irrefragable witness to the truth that you have ever cherished in your heart, the truth that must resound through the ages when your body has perished? After several humiliations due to association with earthly causes, the hour of exaltation approaches you.
I see you, Great Soul, in a vision of glory, go up the Mount of Expectancy of a weary, waiting world, raise high the right hand of blessing, and solemnly utter the word which is in all hearts and which comes full of hope and full of meaning from your inspired lips.
Come, then, bestir yourself. Not a day should be lost.
There is so much to do before civilised administration can be restored and competent authorities in the provinces and at the Centre can be formed with national aims and appropriate means for the choice of delegates through whom the soul of India can speak to the rest of the world. Don’t say you are not free. You can be free, if you but realise that you are waited for. Your last movement has not borne the fruit that you wished. Admit what everybody sees. No hesitation need be felt in recognising facts. You yield, no doubt. But you yield to Fate and not to man.
Stoop and conquer. Many a hero before you has done so and many a hero after you will do so. Let us consult the Ramayana, a book which we revere alike. It counsels against the single aim and the single strategy. A good general should vary them. These are the words of Hanuman, whose aid all Hindus invoke before beginning great enterprises:
“No single plan is adequate to achieve even a small aim. Only he can suceeed in his purpose who adopts different plans in different circumstances.”
Yours affectionately
V. S. SRINIVASAN
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Srinivasa Sastri’s referencing specifically the Ramayana in what might perhaps have been one of his very last few letters to Mahatma Gandhi now perfectly sets the stage for us to segue to examining the great love for Maharishi Valmiki’s “itihaasa” that he truly cherished; and also the great erudition in it that he went on to display through his “Lectures on the Ramayana” which, in later years in his life, made him famous.
(to be continued)
Sudarshan Madabushi