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V. S. SRINIVASA SASTRI
Hero as a Gentleman

            (The Right Honourable V. S. Srinivasa Sastri, who was born on 22 Sept. 1869, died on 17 April 1946)

Here was a many-faceted personality. Teacher and educa­tionist, informed patriot and elder statesman, man of letters and interpreter of the classics, the Right Honourable V. S. Srinivasa Sastri was one of our great nation-builders. His name has been a byword for persuasive eloquence in his time. He was hailed as a silver-tongued orator not only in India, but throughout the British Empire. But there is, to my mind, one expression that could truly sum up his character more than any other. He was a gentleman. If Thomas Carlyle had heard of him, he might well have added another chapter to his celebrated lectures on “Heroes and Hero worship.� He would probably have called it: “Hero: as a gentleman.� For, Sastri was a gentleman first, gentleman next and gentleman last.

It might be asked by some, the more sceptical among us, if it is always or at all possible for a politician to be a gentleman. Sastri posed this question himself in an address to students in Nagpur. The answer to that question might partly at least depend on what we mean by the expression “gentleman.� A gentleman is one who would not hurt another, consciously or unconsciously, whatever be the price he might have to pay in the process. If his personal promotion be adversely affected as a consequence, he would not mind it in the least. Nor would he make any compromises on matters of basic principle for the sake of any personal gain. There were many number of occasion’s in the public career of Sastri when he could have got the highest position open to an Indian of his day, provided, of course, he was ready to make a little compromise here and a little adjustment there. As the main architect of the Montagu-Chelmsford Reforms of 1919, from the Indian non-official side, he could have easily become a member of the Viceroy’s Executive Council (let alone the Governor’s Council) if only he played safe by keeping his silence. But he rather chose to speak out his mind on the Rowlatt Bill, the Introduction of which no self-respecting Indian could tolerate. The result, not so surprising in such cases, was that someone else (Sir B. N. Sarma) was preferred for what was justly his due. But he had no regrets on this score.

A gentleman cannot be a place-seeker. Nor would Sastri accept a place, even when it was offered without his seeking it, so long as he felt that he would not be true to his task, namely service to the public cause, according to his lights. The presi­dentship of the Imperial Legislative Council (a sinecure post that would attract most politicians) was offered to him, but he would have none of it, as he would no longer be free to serve as the spokesman of the people’s grievances, if he accepted this job. The whole of his political career may well be taken as a telling illustration of the statement that it is not impossible for a politician to be a gentleman.

When knighthood was a matter of signal honour cherished by most of his Liberal colleagues and other contemporaries, it was left for Sastri to decline even higher titles from the British Government, like KBB and KCSI. The only honour he ever chose; to accept was the companionship of Honour, apart from the membership of the Privy Council, which stood in a different category. He was responsive without being loyalist. Though he was a Moderate, with a deep-rooted belief in constitutional methods of agitation, Sastri preferred to keep his options open both with the British Government and with his Indian colleagues.

A Liberal he was, no doubt, from the beginning of his political career (in 1907) to his last day (in 1946). But Sastri chose to spell his “liberalism� with a small “l�. Like most Indian Liberals of the time, he was bred on the 19th century British classics like Mill on “Liberty� and Morley on “Compromise.� In his case, however, liberalism was not a matter of political strategy or public stance but an article of personal faith. It, involved the seeing of the opposite point of view as clearly as one’s own, perhaps clearer still as critics used to say, half in jest, of Sastri. “There is nothing in the world equal to an under­standing of those from whom you differ�, he wrote to Mahatma Gandhi on one occasion. And these words could be taken to reflect his Liberal approach to political opponents. No better illustration of this approach could be found than in the relations between Gandhi and Sastri. They had some of the most fundamental differences in the world (beginning from the Civil Disobedience Movement to non-cooperation in the war effort and so on), but no two other political leaders could claim to have understood each other so completely. They were the best of personal friends. They were like brothers, in the hallowed spirit reminiscent of the Ramayana.

Another attribute of a gentleman is integrity of character, intellectual as well as moral. This could be claimed for Sastri with no qualification whatsoever. Intellectual integrity, by stretch­ing its meaning a little, could also mean a quest for perfection. In the case of Sastri, this seems to have started fairly early in his life. Sprung from a family known for its adherence to orthodox Hindu tradition, he was able to master the nuances of a foreign language that came from a totally different cultural tradition. His devotion to the deeper harmonies of the English language had a spiritual dimension, as it were, to it, as with the efforts of all seekers of knowledge from time immemorial. In his college days, it expressed itself in an uncommon obsession with the Webster’s Dictionary. This was a magnificent obsession that persisted till his dying day.

The incident from his Teachers� college days in Saidapet (in 1891) is best told in the words of his biographer, Mr. T. N. Jagadisan (who had played the Boswell to his Johnson) (Page 8):

“One day, the Principal of the college, Mr. A. A. Hall, in setting out to teach his students good elocution and correct pronunciation, himself mispronounced three words placing the accent wrongly on them. Srinivasan, who had been actually complimented by the Principal on his own good pronunciation created a sensation in the class by pointing out his Principal’s errors in pronouncing “magnificent�, “formidable�, and “exe­crable.� Hall claimed he had pronounced the words correctly. A dictionary was brought to the class and Hall’s incorrectness was established. It is noteworthy that Hall took the incident in good part and Sastri did not have to suffer for it.�

On his reputed mastery of the English language, suffice it to say that Sastri spoke not like any Englishman did, but as the best-educated Englishman ought to speak it. Of how many others can this be said? Ramsay Macdonald, Prime Minister of England, at one of the Round Table Conferences, is known to have confessed: “After listening to the Rt. Hon. V. S. Srinivasa Sastri, I hesitate to speak my own language.� David Lloyd George, a political orator of matchless skill, was all admiration for the Sastri style of speaking. While university dons took his speeches as models of pronunciation, newspaper editors in London used to instruct their editorial staffs to study them for improving their idiom and syntax. This was a rare feat indeed for an Indian in the annals of English elocution.

Restraint is often praised as a classical virtue, but it is not easy to acquire for a full-blooded man in the thick of political battles. It is true that Sastri did not snort like a war horse (in the manner of a Churchill) nor was he eager for crises of any kind. He did, however, face them in his own way as a gentleman trained in the only school for restraint then available, other­wise known as the Servants of India Society. He gladly undertook to obey the interdict on public speaking and writing for the first few years, imposed on him by his political Guru, G. K. Gokhale. But he had to exercise his capacity for restraint in other respects too.

One example relates to an incident that occurred in Calcutta, when he was assisting his master Gokhale in his work as a member of the Indian Legislative Assembly. It is related by the late Mr. P. Kodanda Rao in Srinivasa Sastri � a Political Biography:

“On one occasion, he was refused admission to the Legislative Chamber by the European sergeant at the gate, on the ground that he was not ‘properly dressed!� (by which was meant that he was in his Indian-style dress) Hurt by the insult to the dhoti, Sastri returned home and cogitated whether he should request Gokhale to make an issue of the dignity and status of the dhoti then and there, or let him concentrate on his Education Bill and himself submit to the indignity of a pair of trousers and shoes! Finally, he chose the latter alternative, consoling himself with the thought that one day the dhoti would come into its own in the highest social and official circles in India. Next day he presented himself in trousers and shoes, and was readily admitted to the Legislative Chamber.�

He was ever prepared to relegate his pride and personal dignity to a second place, giving the first to national interest and public good. This naturally meant a lot of strain on a man of such self-respect and sensitivity. Mahatma Gandhi often used to stress the point that non-violence was a weapon of the brave, not of the timid. By the same token, restraint in Sastri was not a sign of weakness or an alibi for inaction or personal cowardice. He was a man of great moral courage, and in this respect was comparable only to the greatest in the land like Gokhale and Gandhi. It is worth-remembering at this distance of time that he was often critical of the policies of the British Government � on various counts such as Salt Tax, the Services and the role of the Bureaucracy, which could nullify the substance of the reforms by its tardiness and prevarication. He did not hesitate to tell the powers that be a thing or two when he felt it was in the public interest to do so. Describing the temper of the Indian people in 1920 or 1921 (may be soon after the Jalianwala Bagh tragedy), at a party given by the Viceroy in his honour on the eve of his departure for England, he could say:

“We have never seen in this country such a wreck of hope and faith in the government of the day. We have never seen such a total wreck of faith in the people as today.�
And yet, in the course of his speeches in London (includ­ing the famous Guild Hall speech) he could give voice to his unmistakable faith in the ultimate values of liberty, equality and human fellowship that, in his eyes, inspired the British Empire at its best, transcending the boundaries of geography and nationality and the distinctions of race, colour and creed.

Not that Sastri was unaware of the other side of the medal. He was gentle and restrained, never naive or insensitive. He knew enough of the imperial game to be able to tell his audience in Canada in a fit of loud thinking:

“Its (the Empire’s) strength has been built upon our weakness, its riches have been accumulated by keeping us poor, its power in the world has been possible because our strength could be used, subordinated to their strength.�

This is not the tone typical of a loyalist petitioner or of a time-serving favour-seeker. He knew the British rulers at their cynical worst as well as at their sympathetic best. He also knew that hard words break no bones. There was obviously an element of political deliberation no less than of intellectual sophistication in his sustained attempt to put the Englishman on his honour, and leave him with the choice of living up to his own built-up image in India and elsewhere or have it shattered in the eyes of the world. He never gave up hope, though he was prepared for successive disappointments. He, however, tried his best not to allow any disappointments to lead to frustration and bitterness.

When we think of Sastri, we cannot help thinking of three other attributes of a gentleman. They are � humility, humour and humanity.

Humility is, perhaps, no longer considered an attribute of any modern man, let alone a gentleman or a great man. One comes across few men who think they had made a mark in life who are not absolutely convinced of their own greatness, be it actual or potential. It is no doubt understandable that humility is no virtue in an age of advertisement and self­advertisement. To be humble or modest is but to be ignored by friends and foes alike as a nonentity in this world. But we still get men like Gandhi, Einstein and Hammarskjoeld who prove, by example rather than by precept, that greatness can be humble, without being ineffective.

Sastri belongs to this rare category, which is growing rarer still day by day. Mr. N. Raghunatha Aiyar, the eminent journalist and scholar (who was for a long time on The Hindu)described his first introduction to the Rt Hon. Sastri in Mount Road thus. The Rt. Hon. gentleman (who was then president of the SIS and leader of the Indian Liberal Federation) walked up the steps of the winding staircase to Mr. Raghunatha Aiyar’s room and stretched out his hand, announcing himself in the words: “I am Srinivasa Sastry of the Servants of India Society.� There was no trace of pretension or false humility in this gesture, Mr. Raguunatha Aiyar told his listeners.

It was neither in Sastri’s nature nor in his code of conduct to push himself forward to the front row in any public gathering. This statement could be metaphorical no less than literal in its application to Sastri. Experts in psychoanalysis of the present day might rack their brains to get at the root cause of this behaviour. They might speak with a learned superiority of “Inferiority complex�, “Inner sense of insecurity�, “Low degree of motivation� and what you will. But Sastri was impenitent in his humility.

One does not know if anyone has counted the actual number of ‘I’s occurring in the speeches and writings of Sastri. But it could be a safe guess that the percentage (of recurrence of the First Personal Singular) must be about the lowest among his contemporaries. Elementary rules of English idiom, recommend that “I� and “Me� and “Mine� should come last in any personal group in a sentence. It is common knowledge now that the First Person Singular takes the highest priority in speech and writing.

Closely linked with Sastri’s humility is his humour. Countless are the jokes he used to crack against himself. They are antidote to the slightest trace of vanity or portentousness in himself or the suggestion of it in others� minds. How many of us remember that he had at least one honorary doctorate (may be more, I am not sure) to add to his name? But he did not use it. (There are others who would hardly allow us to forget that they are doctors of literature or doctors of philosophy, even if it be honoris causa. What is more, their official subordinates might well incur their wrath and make themselves liable to suitable punishment if the honorific prefix of vicarious learning is omitted, even by oversight!) There are only a few names like Dr. Radhakrishnan, Dr. C. V. Raman, Dr. C. R. Reddy and Dr. Rajendra Prasad for which the prefix “Doctor� sounds apt and well-earned, though it is honorary in each of these cases.

Sastri, like Rajaji, Nehru and others, never used his doctorate. On the other hand, he made light of it. It was in August 1932, that the Madras University conferred the honorary degree of Doctor of Laws on Sastri at a special convocation. He could not attend it. Relating this incident to a lady friend of his, Sastri says in his letter:

“Beware how you address me hereafter ... the only fly in the ointment is the expensive robe one has to buy...Like the society lady’s wedding dress, it has no use beyond that occasion. If you can make something of the material, please apply promptly!�

If humanism means a deep involvement with human affairs, and the mind of man, Sastri could be described as a humanist: One need not go into the question if he was an agnostic as well and remained so till the end of his life. At one stage, he certainly called himself an agnostic, who had imbibed the rationalism of T. H. Huxley and J. S. Mill. For the best part of his life he was not prepared to accept any personal convictions from others on trust or suspend his own judgment in favour of anybody else’s. Those who had listened to his Ramayana lectures, especially the concluding one in the series, however, can be seen to be eager to enlist him in the fraternity of faith, to which all of them are happy to belong.    ­

Even so, Sastri can hardly be labelled a conventional man of faith. He had no use for the rituals and ceremonies and all the other outward insignia of traditional religion. He was a man of no easy faith, as Mr. Jagadisan takes care to emphasize in his book. His faith was the result of agonizing appraisals and reappraisals. It was the end-product of a life time’s felt experience. Even the moving exhortation for the enthronement of Rama and Sita in his listeners� hearts was an acknowledgement of the perfectability of human beings rather than the routine call of piety by a man who practised religion by rote.

Was Sastri a man of action? Not in the sense in which one usually understands this term. He made no secret of his age­ long habit of weighing the alternatives nicely in the scales of his mind before coming to a conclusion. It was often a time-consuming process and by the time he came to a decision, the time for action might have passed him by. Referring to the British Governor of an Indian province, who had been a radical in English politics, Sastri said:

“He was a typical conservative, a perfect Hamlet of politics. But surely deliberation is not indecision. It will lead to action quite as often as to inaction. And the action to which it leads will be safe and suited to all the attendant circumstances.�

The balanced mind was prized by Sastri even more than an alert and elastic mind among the attributes of university culture. Yudhishtira, rather than Bhima, was his model as a conscientious politician. The historian of the Congress, Dr. Pattabhi, said: “Sastriar was content to remain a -bencher in Councils though he loved to praise the cross-bench mind.� Sastri was unrepentant in commending the value of a cross-bench mind. He looked upon it as “the crown and summit of liberal education.�

Those belonging to the generation which knew the Rt. Hon. V. S. Srinivasa Sastri or heard him from a distance admire him for his eloquence, for his erudition, for his integrity and for his patriotism. When his virtues are listed and his achievements are recounted, his image might come to this generation as all-too-­bright, larger than life. But one can ill afford to forget that Sastri was a human being, with all the weaknesses as well as the strengths of a human being. He was no copybook saint. Thank God! We can only love him the more for it. He was warm-hearted; but the decorum of a lifetime trained him not to wear his heart on his sleeve. He loved the good things of life, without being a hedonist. He was no ascetic by nature; but he grew up to maturity in the school of discipline and self-abnegation. Money did not mean much to him. He never had enough of it. Like William Pitt the Younger he died poor. But we are the richer for the fact that Sastri lived amidst us mice.