The reader, by now, will be quite familiar with Parsi Rustomji's name.
He was one who became at once my client and co-worker, or perhaps it
would be truer to say that he first became co-worker and then
client. I won his confidence to such an extent that he sought and
followed my advice also in private domestic matters. Even when he
was ill, he would seek my aid, and though there was much difference
between our ways of living, he did not hesitate to accept my quack
treatment.
This friend once got into a very bad scrape. Though he kept me
informed of most of his affairs, he had studiously kept back one
thing. He was a large importer of goods from Bombay and Calcutta,
and not infrequently he resorted to smuggling. But as he was on the
best terms with customs officials, no one was inclined to suspect
him. In charging duty, they used to take his invoices on trust. Some
might even have connived at the smuggling.
But to use the telling simile of the Gujarati poet Akho, theft like
quicksilver won't be suppressed, and Parsi Rustomji's proved no
exception. The good friend ran post haste to me, the tears rolling
down his cheeks as he said: 'Bhai, I have deceived you. My guilt has
been discovered today. I have smuggled and I am doomed. I must go to
jail and be ruined. You alone may be able to save me from this
predicament. I have kept back nothing else from you, but I thought I
ought not to bother you with such tricks of the trade, and so I
never told you about this smuggling. But now, how much I repent it!'
I calmed him and said: 'To save or not to save you is in His hands.
As to me you know my way. I can but try to save you by means of
confession.'
The good Parsi felt deeply mortified.
'But is not my confession before you enough?' he asked.
'You have wronged not me but Government. How will the confession
made before me avail you?' I replied gently.
'Of course I will do just as you advise, but will you not consult
with my old counsel Mr. _____? He is a friend too,' said Parsi
Rustomji.
Inquiry revealed that the smuggling had been going on for a long
time, but the actual offence detected involved a trifling sum. We
went to his counsel. He perused the papers, and said: 'The case will
be tried by a jury, and a Natal jury will be the last to acquit an
Indian. But I will not give up hope.'
I did not know this counsel intimately. Parsi Rustomji intercepted:
'I thank you, but I should like to be guided by Mr. Gandhi's advice
in this case. He knows me intimately. Of course you will advise him
whenever necessary.'
Having thus shelved the counsel's question, we went to Parsi
Rustomji's shop.
And now explaining my view I said to him: 'I don't think this case
should be taken to court at all. It rests with the Customs Officer
to prosecute you or to let you go, and he in turn will have to be
guided by the Attorney General. I am prepared to meet both. I
propose that you should offer to pay the penalty they fix, and the
odds are that they will be agreeable. But if they are not, you must
be prepared to go to jail. I am of opinion that the shame lies not
so much in going to jail as in committing the offence. The deed of
shame has already been done. Imprisonment you should regard as a
penance. The real penance lies in resolving never to smuggle again.'
I cannot say that Parsi Rustomji took all this quite well. He was a
brave man, but his courage failed him for the moment. His name and
fame were at stake, and where would he be if the edifice he had
reared with such care and labour should go to pieces?
'Well, I have told you,' he said, 'that I am entirely in your hands.
You may do just as you like.'
I brought to bear on this case all my powers of persuasion. I met
the Customs Officer and fearlessly apprised him of the whole affair.
I also promised to place all the books at his disposal and told him
how penitent Parsi Rustomji was feeling.
The Customs Officer said: 'I
like the old Parsi. I am sorry he has made a fool of himself. You
know where my duty lies. I must be guided by the Attorney General
and so I would advise you to use all your persuasion with him.'
'I shall be thankful,' said I, 'if you do not insist on dragging him
into court.'
Having got him to promise this, I entered into correspondence with
the Attorney General and also met him. I am glad to say that he
appreciated my complete frankness and was convinced that I had kept
back nothing.
I now forget whether it was in connection with this or with some
other case that my persistence and frankness extorted from him the
remark: 'I see you will never take a no for an answer.'
The case against Parsi Rustomji was compromised. He was to pay a
penalty equal to twice the amount he had confessed to having
smuggled. Rustomji reduced to writing the facts of the whole case,
got the paper framed and hung it up in his office to serve as a
perpetual reminder to his heirs and fellow merchants.
These friends of Rustomji warned me not to be taken in by this
transitory contrition. When I told Rustomji about this warning he
said: 'What would be my fate if I deceived you?'