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Saga of a Satyagraha
Rajdutt
I was in my early twenties then. Fresh from college, I was looking
for an opening in journalism, my cherished profession. In that connection,
I was in Pune. When the Socialist undercurrents were then quite strong
in Maharashtra. After the Silvasa episode, there was a growing eagerness
to create a platform for the liberation of Goa from the Portuguese
shackles. Leaders from across party lines came together to form an
organisation to concretise their shared vision. Thousands of men and
women came forward to participate in a satyagraha. Prominent among
them were the veteran Socialists S.M. Joshi (Essem) and the renowned
writer N.G. Gore who later became India's High Commissioner in UK
as also a number of middle rung activists of the Socialist movement
and the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh, the latter accounting for almost
70 per cent of the volunteers who finally crossed over into Portuguese
territory to offer satyagraha. It was decided to reach Belgaum by
rail and then march across the Portuguese border on foot. Satyagrahis
in groups left for Belgaum mainly from Pune. Socialist volunteers
included a fair percentage of women volunteers mostly from the urban
middle class.
I distinctly
remember the then 70 year old mother of the outstanding Marathi litteratuer
Go. Ni. Dandekar walked all the 32 miles with us. We left for the
Goa border in small groups of hundred-odd volunteers by evening. The
groups followed different routes, criss-crossing the hilly tract punctuated
by creeks and rivulets to reach the border. Fired by our enthusiasm
to liberate a part of the Motherland we were determined to cross the
border, come what may. It was the passionate fervour of our young
hearts to make whatever small contribution to the liberation of Goa,
still grinding under tyrranical Portuguese rule even after the rest
of India had become Independent. We walked the whole night. As we
reached, the border, the Portuguese patrol stopped us from going across.
The soldiers were mainly Abyssinians. Nevertheless, we were adamant
and insisted on moving forward. Braving the gun shots, small groups
moved on and crossed the border. Many of us faced the bullets and
were injured. Groups continued to filter in. Villages and bustees
that fell in our way greeted us enthusiastically and helped us with
whatever food they could manage, mainly rice and water.
We advanced as
far as 14 km inside the Portuguese territory where we were detained
and put in a makeshift jail—a large compound that belonged to a villager.
Of course we were left without food and water. Slowly, we started
singing bhajans and patriotic songs demanding to hand over the injured
and the martyrs. They were so callous that not a single demand was
met. We realised that the British were more civilised than their cousins
to us. The next day, they drove us out in hordes but for months the
groups continued to cross the border. I myself crossed the border
twice. The second time, although the army officially arrested us we
were kept without food. We were not detained for long. We were ordered
to clear out of Portuguese territory by the morning. After all these
years, I feel, the movement succeeded primarily because of the spontaneous
and sustained support of the villagers and of course, the sheer courage
of the volunteers, men and women alike.
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