Hey Ram Gandhi Last Words
Nga Sagastume
the book "MG, the last 200 days", is a compilation of daily articles for the hindu newspaper that ran for 200 days ending 30 jan 1998, the 50th anniversary of death. these articles were written by v ramamurhty, (who was 12 in 1948), an author of scholarly credentials. the source of all information included were the hindu's archives and the letters and articles written by mg himself. on the article of day 195, dealing with jan 24, 1948, ramamurthy quotes from a letter written by gandhi to someone named Jaisukhlal Gandhi. In which Gandhiji writes that he wants to die with the name of God Rama-Rama Nama--on his lips:
so, if he said hey ram as his last words, his wish came true, if not, no: Either way, no use arguing back and forth about it. i don't think manu and abha find mention in the article, so why should kalyanam be mentioned, if his only claim to fame is this belated revelation of the disputability of attributed last words?--Pournami 10:02, 31 January 2006 (UTC)[reply]
In all probability this will be my last speech to you. Even if the Government allow me to march tomorrow morning, this will be my last speech on the sacred banks of the Sabarmati. Possibly these may be the last words of my life here.
I have already told you yesterday what I had to say. Today I shall confine myself to what you should do after my companions and I are arrested. The programme of the march to Jalalpur must be fulfilled as originally settled. The enlistment of the volunteers for this purpose should be confined to Gujarat only. From what I have been and heard during the last fortnight, I am inclined to believe that the stream of civil resisters will flow unbroken.
We are, however, not to be content with this alone. There is no ban by the Congress and wherever the local workers have self-confidence other suitable measures may be adopted. I stress only one condition, namely, let our pledge of truth and nonviolence as the only means for the attainment of Swaraj be faithfully kept. For the rest, every one has a free hand. But, than does not give a license to all and sundry to carry on their own responsibility. Wherever there are local leaders, their orders should be obeyed by the people. Where there are no leaders and only a handful of men have faith in the programme, they may do what they can, if they have enough self-confidence. They have a right, nay it is their duty, to do so. The history of the is full of instances of men who rose to leadership, by sheer force of self-confidence, bravery and tenacity. We too, if we sincerely aspire to Swaraj and are impatient to attain it, should have similar self-confidence. Our ranks will swell and our hearts strengthen, as the number of our arrests by the Government increases.
Much can be done in many other ways besides these. The Liquor and foreign cloth shops can be picketed. We can refuse to pay taxes if we have the requisite strength. The lawyers can give up practice. The public can boycott the law courts by refraining from litigation. Government servants can resign their posts. In the midst of the despair reigning all round people quake with fear of losing employment. Such men are unfit for Swaraj. But why this despair? The number of Government servants in the country does not exceed a few hundred thousands. What about the rest? Where are they to go? Even free India will not be able to accommodate a greater number of public servants. A Collector then will not need the number of servants, he has got today. He will be his own servant. Our starving millions can by no means afford this enormous expenditure. If, therefore, we are sensible enough, let us bid good-bye to Government employment, no matter if it is the post of a judge or a peon. Let all who are co-operating with the Government in one way or another, be it by paying taxes, keeping titles, or sending children to official schools, etc. withdraw their co-operation in all or as many watts as possible. Then there are women who can stand shoulder to shoulder with men in this struggle.
You may take it as my will. It was the message that I desired to impart to you before starting on the march or for the jail. I wish that there should be no suspension or abandonment of the war that commences tomorrow morning or earlier, if I am arrested before that time. I shall eagerly await the news that ten batches are ready as soon as my batch is arrested. I believe there are men in India to complete the work our begun by me. I have faith in the righteousness of our cause and the purity of our weapons. And where the means are clean, there God is undoubtedly present with His blessings. And where these three combine, there defeat is an impossibility. A Satyagrahi, whether free or incarcerated, is ever victorious. He is vanquished only, when he forsakes truth and nonviolence and turns a deaf ear to the inner voice. If, therefore, there is such a thing as defeat for even a Satyagrahi, he alone is the cause of it. God bless you all and keep off all obstacles from the path in the struggle that begins tomorrow.
Rajiv Gandhi would have turned 72 on August 20. Had he lived.
On a humid night 25 years ago, the former prime minister of India was murdered in cold blood by an LTTE suicide bomber.
Neena Gopal was an eyewitness to the assassination, and in this exclusive extract from her new book, The Assassination of Rajiv Gandhi, she reveals for the first time what she saw in Sriperumbudur that night.
As we turned off the main road, there was a mandatory burst of welcoming firecrackers. We had stopped on a slope on slightly higher ground and had walked down the approach, a few hundred yards or so to the open space in front of the main temple at Sriperumbudur, where a red carpet had been laid out.
Stepping out from the front seat, Rajiv Gandhi had said, 'Come, come, follow me' and I had demurred, walking to the back and around and then to the front of the car so I could have a bird's-eye view of the venue, without having to deal with the throng.
A bomb, a suicide bomber, let alone the first female suicide bomber on Indian soil, was the last thing on anyone's mind as Rajiv Gandhi plunged into the crowd of supporters on his way to the podium at the far side of the ground, shaking hands, smiling warmly, as was his wont, at everyone who reached out to him.
But as the huge explosion went off a few minutes later and I, standing about ten steps away, felt what I later realised was blood and gore from the victims splatter all over my arms and my white sari, a nameless dread took hold -- something terrible had happened to the man I had just been talking with.
Gone was the excited crowd that had been shouting and cheering only seconds before. In its place were the wails, the screams, as I ran forward; and then, someone behind me pulled me back just in time and said in Tamil, 'Watch out, you're about to step on somebody's arm.'
As I fought my way through to the blast site that was only a few feet away, stepping over the debris of the dead and the broken barricades, the one thought running through my head was the fate of Rajiv Gandhi.
'Why is he just lying there? Why doesn't someone help him up? Someone should get him to a hospital, get him immediate emergency treatment... Where is the emergency medical team? Has someone called the hospital?' I said out loud. No one was listening.
As the terrified crowd fled from the spot where the dead and injured lay, and bewildered, anxious survivors ran through the gathering throng in the semi-darkness, I spotted Congress leaders G K Moopanar and Jayanti Natarajan, and Margatham Chandrasekhar who had been in the car with me, and at whose behest the former prime minister had made a special effort to address this oddly timed, late-night election rally.
They looked shaken, aghast, devastated at the sight of Rajiv Gandhi's prone, seemingly lifeless body. Margatham looked shattered, as if her world had ended. Rajiv Gandhi had only come to Sriperumbudur at Aunty's request.
Worse, how at that crucial moment, they couldn't find a single policeman, barring Rajiv Gandhi's personal bodyguard Pradip Kumar Gupta who was lying right next to Rajiv Gandhi and had died in the blast.
The mood on the ground was getting decidedly ugly. At the spot where Rajiv Gandhi's body lay, it was getting more and more difficult to hold one's ground as his supporters closed in, muttering unintelligibly under their breath.
By a stroke of luck, as I was pushing my way through the crowd, trying to find the car that I had hired for the evening, Rajiv Gandhi's driver emerged from the melee. I didn't know him personally but he called out to me and said he had been looking for me everywhere.
Catching me by the arm, he said, 'We should leave; it's not safe here. Anything can happen. Let's go, let's go, I will take you back to Madras. Once the protests start, there will be riots, they will block all the roads; we won't be able to get back.'
Brushing aside my protests about abandoning the Congress leaders if we left, and how we should stay with Rajiv Gandhi's body, he insisted that I go with him, assuring me we would follow the body, which we were anyway ill-equipped to transport.
With no sign of my driver and realising this was my only way back to the city, I jumped in as he quickly reversed the car. We inched our way out of the venue as I continued to scan the scene for my driver who was nowhere to be found.
We followed the ambulance to a hospital just ahead; checked whether Rajiv Gandhi's body would be kept there overnight and, receiving conflicting, contradictory reports from the bewildered medical personnel there, with no one ready to confirm or deny that he had indeed died, we raced to Madras before the mobs had a chance to block the roads into the city.
My husband's wonderful uncle, M K Ramdas, was fielding all calls, including the critical one from his cousin M K Narayanan (who was also my husband's uncle). Narayanan headed the Intelligence Bureau and wanted every single detail of the night's terrible events.
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