With Tilak out of the picture the hard liners were in disarray. Many went underground. Most of his close associates were arrested one after the another.
The Congress party kept silence. Some soft line leaders did protest against the harsh penalty meted out to Tilak.
At Mandalay, Tilak was kept in an upper floor cabin of a wooden structure. Then, month of September was on and the winter not far behind. Tilak would sit in his cabin and think of his home and the homeland he so loved, now far away beyond the sea and the impassable mountains.
Bal Gangadhar Tilak’s banishment to a prison in a foreign land was grievous blow to Satyabhama. The death of the eldest son had turned her into a sorrowing woman. And now her husband incacerating in a far off prison. What an agony!
She cried in grief whenever her mind’s eye pictured Tilak, a sad shadow, sitting on the cold floor of a prison, staring at the greasy dark walls with his sunken eyes. His hand trying to reach to her would look shrunken into crow’s feet.
Her whimpering would bring her son and the daughter to her room asking, “What happened, ma?”
“Nothing to worry. I was remembering your father and suddenly I felt giddy. Nothing more,” she would try to put them at ease.
Meanwhile efforts were on to seek the release of Tilak. Demands were being made for better facilities and treatment to him in jail and his early release. The appeals were being printed in newspapers. The government did allow some special facilities to him in jail but the appeals for his premature release were not considered.
Satyabhama and some of the family members were allowed to pay a visit to Tilak in jail. It was now December, a cold month. The wife was shocked to see her husband suffering the cold in the wooden cabin that provided little protection from the cold. She felt like crying for her helplessness as she had no power to do anything about it. Tilak read her mind and tried to console her by saying that he was alright. “I just need your moral support to survive,” he assured his worried wife.
A year passed. He appeared weakened.
His friend Khaparde came to see him. He spoke, “Tilak, six years is a long time. One year of prison has done a lot of damage to you. The government is ready to release you on certain conditions. I will plead. Accept the conditions. You will be a free man.”
Tilak said softly, “You are my friend. You know that I am in jail for not what I have done. My only crime is that I demanded freedom for my country and my people. The soft leaders of Congress failed to see the trick of the British rulers. They threw me to the white wolves. My ‘Boycott movement’ could have defeated the British. They know it. But our own people refuse to see it. A pity. That is the real reason for my being in this cold prison”.
“That is the point; friend,” spoke Kharpade and added, “You are sticking out your neck for fools who laugh at you in their hearts. For them you are no more than a political juggler. I will get you released if you promise to disassociate yourself from the political monkey business.”
Tilak closed his eyes and said smiling, “You know that I am 53 years old right now. I consider it my just reward for the struggle I have waged to be taken for the No.1 enemy of the British. For me it is like a title of knighthood. The young people look up to me for inspiration. If I surrender to the British at this stage I shall be known as a coward who could not go through the rigours of prison life and chickened out. The youth will get demoralised who otherwise are getting ready to challenge the British. Friend, the cause of our land is demanding sacrifice. Let me be the first to offer my humble sacrifice.”
Suddenly, Khaparde started crying with his face covered with his palms. He stammered, “You…you are really great, my friend, Tilak. The history will do justice to you.”
Kharpade made no other attempt. He departed laden with respect for Bal Gangadhar Tilak.
To pass the heavy time of the prison Tilak decided to do a lot of reading and writing. He began to learn Pali, French and German languages. After reading and exercise Tilak devoted his time to writing and the prayers.
The prison authorities had started to like Tilak and the appointed another prisoner named B.R. Kulkarni who hailed from Satara Distt. of Maharashtra to look after Tilak and cook his food. Tilak was no more lonely. He treated Kulkarni as his younger brother. Whenever Kulkarni was sick Tilak would look after him like a fawning brother.
Bal Gangadhar Tilak was amused with the sparrows that perched on his cabin roof. They merrily hopped around and twittered as if saying, “We don’t give a twitter to your human laws. Man, what are you doing here shut in a cabin? Why don’t you fly around like us?”
Tilak fell in love with those tiny birds.
He began to throw crumbs of bread to them. The birds ate and played around in his cabin. In due course, the birds trusted him fully. They would hop on his table, some even perched on his shoulders and head and pecked away food from his hand.
One day, the jailor happened to pay a visit to his room when he was reading and the birds were hopping all over him.
The jailor watched in great amazement.
He asked, “It is amazing! Don’t the sparrows fear you, Mr. Tilak?”
Tilak smiled and said innocently, “These birds are very intelligent, Mr. Superintendent. They know that I am a simple man, completely harmless. So, they trust me. Unfortunately your people don’t.”
The jailor turned red. He stammered, “Oh!… am sorry…extremely sorry…Mr. Tilak.”
By now Tilak had become used to the prison life. He had accepted the cell as his home realising fully well that he was destined to spend even the rest of his life in one jail or another. He learnt to be cheerful. He dreamt of Independent India, his wife and children.
He fondly remembered his wife whose eyes never failed to become wet whenever she came to see him in prisons. She was many things to him, a hop-scotching girl, little bride Tapi, young shy wife, mother of his children and stoic wife of a tormented politician.
One day, the warden arrived to give Tilak a piece of paper. His face was blank. The paper looked like a telegram. It was.
Tilak read the message and froze.
His Satyabhama had passed away. After a few seconds of stunned shock, Tilak burst into tears and wept like child. The jailor and the wardens rushed to him greatly worried. They tried their best to calm him down by saying words of condolence.
Kulkarni did his part to console him and ease his pain.
The world and the life had no meaning any more for Tilak. Now all Tilak did was read, read and read as if he were trying to find the purpose of life in the sea of written words. He wrote to friends and relatives requesting for book and more books. Seeing him ever buried in books sometimes worried the prison authorities.
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