THE CHILDREN’S TRIBUTE TO GOKHALE.
Mrs. Sarojini Naidu addressed the following letter to the Hon. Mr. V. S. Srinivasa Sastri, President of the Servants of India Society, under date 10th June, 1915, on the occasion of the Tenth Anniversary of the Society :—
On this proud and melancholy occasion of the tenth anniversary of your Society, you will doubtless be overwhelmed with cordial messages of congratulation from all parts of India, and a sad renewal of tributes and testimonies to the memory of your beloved founder and first President.
To this long garland of greetings will you permit me to add, as a pendant of fresh blown buds, the story of the Children’s tribute to the great Gokhale?
Sometimes I think that the supremest service of this incomparable servant of India to his country, lies in the everlasting inspiration of his death, more even than in the actual achievement of his lifetime; for it has already proved a miraculouscdivining-rod over the hidden springs of national feeling everywhere; and it has made articulate, in a sudden rea’isation of the indivisible unity of Indian life and sentiment, even in a conservative and self-centred city like Hyderabad with its haughty traditions of isolation from all public affairs outside its own special horizon of interests.
Memorable in our public record was the remarkable gathering of men of all communities and classes that for the first time in their experience met together to voice as one man their sense of real loss and grief at India’s irreparable loss: unique and epoch-making in our social history was the even more remarkable gathering of women of all creeds, castes, and ranks and fortunes, who assembled to give expression in six different languages to their sorrow, and the Mussalman ladies vied with the Hindu ladies in the eloquence and sincerity of their mourning. But to me, touching, significant and symbolic beyond all other tokens of reverence and regret has been the tribute of the children of Hyderabad for one whose heart was like a child’s and whose life so abundantly fulfilled all their desire and capacity for hero-worship.
There is an association here of young Hindu and Missalman boys and children who act Indian and English dramas for their own amusement, but they are not so absorbed in their own pleasures that they do not hear and answer the call of public duty.
Eighteen months ago when Mr. Gokhale’s golden voice rang out like a trumpet-call for help on behalf of the suffering Indians in South Africa, and men gave their wealth and women their jewels for the cause, these young patriots, having nothing else, coined their love and talent into gold and gave a goodly contribution in response to their hero’s call for aid. Now he is dead; but in their young hearts he lives enshrined. A few weeks ago they came to me and said, " we wish to make our contribution to your Gokhale Memorial Fund. We will stage a play." Last night in the presence of a large and representative audience of all communities, including a striking number of Purdanashin ladies, the association of boys and children gave a brilliant performance in “aid of the Gokhale Memorial Fund.” It was a charming play, a musical fantasy from the Arabian Nights, composed by a member of the association — my seventeen-year-old brother, Harindranath Chattopadhyaya, of whom Mr. Gokhale used to say, when he was only fourteen, “this child’s genius gives me electric thrills” — a play written by a boy and acted by boys and children. The staging was beautiful, and everything was as perfect as they could render it, not only for the honour of art, but for the honour of the cause for which they were giving their time and talent—the honour of Gokhale’s memory.
They began with a specially composed invocation to the Spirit of Gokhale, also the work of my brother, in which Hindu and Muhammadan boys took part; then followed a poem in Urdu, written for the occasion, by a young Muhammadan poet. The performers realised more than Rs. 600 last night to offer as their share towards the upraising of a local memorial in their hero’s honour.
And so the generations are linked together by the continuity of ideals and a common love inspired by a great and selfless spirit. I think that spirit must have rejoiced to see how spontaneously and wholeheartedly the younger section of India unconsciously interpreted and fulfilled the sublime lesson he always taught that no gift is more fine or fruitful than personal service leavened by personal love; and he who laid down his life in the cause of Indian unity must surely have given thanks to God that last night, inspired by a common love and a common service, Hindu and Mussalman boys, the young citizens of to-morrow, were animated by one vision, spoke with one voice and were impelled by one inseverable heart of service and devotion.
Pardon me for taking up so much of your time. But you, who are the inheritors of Gokhale’s mission of service, ought surely to know wherever the good seed has fallen, that time will reap and destiny knead into bread for the feeding of the hungry spirits in this great country of ours. Tomorrow and the hope of to-morrow is always with the young ; and so you too like me will know how to appraise the obvious value, and even more the deep underlying significance of the children’s tribute to the great Gokhale.