Never Again!

One day last month amid arc lights that made the Indian Legislative Assembly Hall at Simla, the summer capital, look like a film studio, six-foot Lord Linlithgow, Viceroy of India, read to a hushed gathering a long telegram from His Majesty the King. The telegram explained why Great Britain had thought it wise to enter a war and the monarch was confident of India's support. Then His Excellency the Viceroy put on his pince-nez, looked accusingly at his audience and proceeded to assure His Majesty, on behalf of India, that India saw eye to eye with everything Britain did and was ready with her support.

Since the Viceroy's voice in the Indian Government is more powerful than the votes of all legislators put together, his statement committed the vast subcontinent to war. This fact was appreciated by all, but from the Indians present came no sign of enthusiasm. It was only when His Excellency unexpectedly announced that the grave political question of all-India federation, which virtually all shades of Indian opinion had opposed for different reasons, would be shelved for the duration of the war that the Indian members rose and cheered the Viceroy with such zeal that the Assembly's speaker had to hammer his desk thrice to restore order.

The Viceroy can declare war, but to put India's resources and men back of Britain he must have the support of the emaciated Mahatma M. K. Gandhi who holds no office but whose word is nevertheless virtual law to millions of potentially troublesome Hindus. In the last war India sent some 1,338,620 men to battle areas, all paid for out of the Indian Treasury, not to mention the wealth and materials that poured toward London. By last week some detachments of Indian troops had been sent already to Malaya and Egypt at no expense to the British taxpayer.

In return for its unconditional support in World War I, Britain promised India eventual dominion status. When India did not get it fervent Leftist intellectuals were vociferous in exclaiming "Never Again!" The big question last week was whether Nationalist India would or would not support the British war, and how much independence Britain would pay as the price of that support.

Realizing what the Mahatma's good will means, Lord Linlithgow lost no time in cordially inviting the aged Indian boss to talk over "cooperation." Mr. Gandhi, no longer the flaming revolutionary of yore, obviously would have liked to oblige his British friends. Plagued with the vision of a possible bloody revolution in India should the British be forced to leave (and there is nothing he abhors more than blood), the Mahatma has of late become one of Britain's stanchest friends. But he was on a spot, for if he came out flatly for war support, his smart Leftist opponents would seize the opportunity of a lifetime and probably dethrone him as the throneless leader of India's millions.

Cagily the Mahatma kept silence after his first viceregal visit. Later on he let it be known that Fuehrer Hitler's camp was opposite his own and that he was a "sworn enemy of brute force." The Viceroy invited him back again, and then again, until last week His Excellency and the Mahatma saw each other for the third time in less than a month. Meanwhile, Lord Linlithgow busied himself with talks with other Indian leaders--princes, Moslems, Hindus, Sikhs.

As long as the theatre of war remains some 4,500 air miles away from India, Indians will probably show no haste in deciding to help the British Lion. Last week, however, the old bugbear of Russian expansion was looming in the North. There were reports of mobilization in mountainous, wild Afghanistan caused by the proximity of reinforced Soviet garrisons. Afghanistan is the northern gateway to India. From Shanghai came a story of Russian troops in China's Sinkiang Province and a fantastic suggestion that they might threaten India via the trackless 16,000-ft. high plateau of Tibet. Few Indian leaders, and certainly not M. K. Gandhi, would care to exchange their British masters for Joseph Stalin.

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