Orange Juice

In the elaborate hall of Lady Vittal das Thackersey's marble villa outside Poona squatted more than 100 persons last week--Hindus, Moslems, Sikhs, Christians--all gazing out on the terrace where on a cot lay what looked like a week's wash, a great bundle of white linen shrouding the living skeleton of Mahatma Gandhi. Month ago, already an owl-eyed lemur of a man. St. Gandhi began a fast in behalf of the Hindu Untouchables, without whose liberation he believes real self-government in India is impossible.

Doctors, his own disciples, the British Government all thought he was signing his death warrant. Rather than have him die on its hands, the Government let him out of jail. St. Gandhi retired to Lady Thackersey's terrace and for three weeks swallowed nothing at all save little sips of water flavored with soda and salt. His weight dropped from 99 to 80 lb., he lay in semicoma, but amazed doctors continued to announce that his physical condition was good.

Just before noon, when the fast was to end, a boy Untouchable began slicing and squeezing oranges. Little Latmaja Naidu, daughter of India's foremost Poetess Sarojini Naidu, tiptoed to the cot. St. Gandhi was too weak to raise his head, but from the middle of the cocoon his eyes flashed behind their thick spectacles.

"Shall I give you a slap as I did last September?" he croaked.

"Never mind," said Little Latmaja. "One slap was enough. I admit you are strong."

Someone propped up his head. St. Gandhi was able to swallow about two ounces--a cocktail glass full--of orange juice. He distributed the rest, together with fruit, nuts and candy that had been sent him, to the Faithful. There followed Hindu prayers, readings from the Koran. A soloist sang St. Gandhi's favorite Christian hymn: "When I survey the wondrous Cross. . . ."

As a token of thanksgiving, Mrs. Gandhi, who had eaten practically nothing during the Mahatma's fast, planted a mango tree in the garden.

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