Just about this time Narayan Hemchandra came to England. I had heard of him as a writer. We met at the house of Miss Manning of the National Indian Association. Miss Manning knew that I could not make myself sociable. When I went to her place I used to sit tongue-tied, never speaking except when spoken to. She introduced me to Narayan Hemchandra. He did not know English. His dress was queer – a clumsy pair of trousers, a wrinkled, dirty, brown coat after the Parsi fashion, no necktie or collar, and a tasseled woolen cap. He grew a long beard.
He was lightly built and short of stature. His round face was scarred with
small-pox, and had a nose which was neither pointed nor blunt. With
his hand he was constantly turning over his beard.
Such a queer-looking and queerly dressed person was bound to be singled out
in fashionable society.
'I have heard a good deal about you,' I said to him. 'I have also read some
of your writings. I should be very pleased if you were kind enough
to come to my place.'
Narayan Hemchandra had a rather hoarse voice. With a smile on his face he
'Yes, where do you stay?'
'In Store Street.'
'Then we are neighbours. I want to learn English. Will you teach me?'
'I shall be happy to teach you anything I can, and will try my best. If you
like, I will go to your place.'
'Oh, no. I shall come to you. I shall also bring with me a Translation
Exercise Book.' So we made an appointment. Soon we were close
Narayan Hemchandra was innocent of grammar. 'Horse' was a verb with him and
'run' a noun. I remember many such funny instances. But he was not
to be baffled by his ignorance. My little knowledge of grammar could
make no impression on him. Certainly he never regarded his ignorance
of grammar as a matter for shame.
With perfect nonchalance he said: 'I have never been to school like you.
I have never felt the need of grammar in expressing my thoughts.
Well, do you know Bengali? I know it. I have travelled in Bengal. It
is I who have given Maharshi Devendranath Tagore's works to the
Gujarati-speaking world. And I wish to translate into Gujarati the
treasures of many other languages. I always content myself with
bringing out the spirit. Others, with their better knowledge, may be
able to do more in future. But I am quite satisfied with what I have
achieved without the help of grammar. I know Marathi, Hindi,
Bengali, and now I have begun to know English. What I want is a
copious vocabulary. And do you think my ambition ends here? No fear.
I want to go to France and learn French. I am told that language has
an extensive literature. I shall go to Germany also, if possible,
and there learn German.' And thus he would talk on unceasingly. He
had a boundless ambition for learning languages and for foreign
'Then you will go to America also?'
'Certainly. How can I return to India without having seen the New World?'
'But where will you find the money?'
'What do I need money for? I am not a fashionable fellow like you. The
minimum amount of food and the minimum amount of clothing suffice
for me. And for this what little I get out of my books and from my
friends is enough. I always travel third class. While going to
America also I shall travel on deck.'
Narayan Hemchandra's simplicity was all his own, and his frankness was on a
par with it. Of pride he had not the slightest trace, excepting, of
course, a rather undue regard for his own capacity as a writer.
We met daily. There was a considerable amount of similarity between our
thoughts and actions. Both of us were vegetarians. We would often
have our lunch together. This was the time when I lived on 17s a
week and cooked for myself. Sometimes when I would go to his room,
and sometimes he would come to mine. I cooked in the English style.
Nothing but Indian style would satisfy him. He would not do without
dal. I would make soup of carrots etc., and he would pity me for my
taste. Once he somehow hunted out mung1 cooked it
and brought it to my place. I ate it with delight. This led on to a
regular system of exchange between us. I would take my delicacies to
him and he would bring his to me.
Cardinal Manning's name was then on every lip. The dock labourers' strike had
come to an early termination owing to the efforts of John Burns and
Cardinal Manning. I told Narayan Hemchandra of Disraeli's tribute to
the Cardinal's simplicity. 'Then I must see the sage', said he.
'He is a big man. How do you expect to meet him?'
'Why? I know how. I must get you to write to him in my name. Tell him I am
an author and that I want to congratulate him personally on his
humanitarian work, and also say that I shall have to take you as
interpreter as I do not know English.'
I wrote a letter to that effect. In two or three days came Cardinal Manning's
card in reply giving us an appointment. So we both called on the
Cardinal. I put on the usual visiting suit. Narayan Hemchandra was
the same as ever, in the same coat and the same trousers. I tried to
make fun of this, but he laughed me out and said:
'You civilized fellows are all cowards. Great men never look at a
person's exterior. They think of his heart.'
We entered the Cardinal's mansion. As soon as we were seated, a thin,
tall, old gentleman made his appearance, and shook hands with us.
Narayan Hemchandra thus gave his greetings:
'I do not want to take up your time. I had heard a lot about you and I felt I
should come and thank you for the good work you have done for the
strikers. It has been my custom to visit the sages of the world and
that is why I have put you to this trouble.'
This was of course my translation of that he spoke in Gujarati.
'I am glad you have come. I hope your stay in London will agree with you
and that you will get in touch with people here. God bless you.'
With these words the Cardinal stood up and said good-bye.
Once Narayan Hemchandra came to my place in a shirt and dhoti.
The good landlady opened the door, came running to me in a fright – this
was a new landlady who did not know Narayan Hemchandra – and
said: 'A sort of a madcap wants to see you.' I went to the door and
to my surprise found Narayan Hemchandra. I was shocked. His face,
however, showed nothing but his usual smile.
'But did not the children in the street rag you?'
'Well, they ran after me, but I did not mind them and they were quiet.'
Narayan Hemchandra went to Paris after a few months' stay in London. He
began studying French and also translating French books. I knew
enough French to revise his translation, so he gave it to me to
read. It was not a translation, it was the substance.
Finally he carried out his determination to visit America. It was with great
difficulty that he succeeded in securing a deck ticket. While in the
United States he was prosecuted for 'being indecently dressed', as
he once went out in a shirt and dhoti.
I have a recollection that he was discharged.