While we were busy organising and planning our revolutionary activities, one of the members based in Mainpuri began fancying himself as a leader. He formed a separate organisation and even collected some arms and ammunition. He ordered a comrade to arrange a robbery at a relative’s houses to arrange for some quick funds. The latter did not respond or comply. He was then given a notice and a death threat. He promptly went to the police and the whole plan was exposed. The police nabbed the members of this unit. The news also reached us.

A Congress session was about to be held in Delhi. We planned to sell our book How Did America Win Its Independence?, the one which had been seized by the UP government, at the venue. On the occasion of the Congress session, I took the members of the Sewa Samiti of Shahjahanpur along with my ambulance unit and staff. The ambulance staff had permission to enter everywhere without being stopped. Young men stood outside the pandal, holding copies for sale and announcing, ‘The book seized in UP: How Did America Win Its Independence?’ The secret police surrounded the Congress camp. Right across was the Arya Samaj camp, where the police began searching the stalls selling books. I instructed my volunteers to stay put at the Congress campus entrance and not to allow any policeman to enter without permission from a minister of the welcome committee or the president of the session. I entered the Arya Samaj camp. All our books, about 200 in number, were in a single tent. I collected them in my overcoat, slung it over my shoulders and walked past the policemen out of the camp. I was in uniform, wearing a cap, and a large badge (of ambulance staff) was visible on my arm. No one was suspicious, and the books were saved.

We returned to Shahjahanpur from Delhi. There, too, police raids occurred. We moved places to a different house in another town. At around eleven in the night, the landlord closed the main door, locking us in. One of our comrades arrived and found the gate locked, and he called for us. We, too, became suspicious. We all climbed the wall and escaped. It was a dark night. We had only walked a few steps when we suddenly heard a command, “Who goes there? Stand still!” We were a group of seven or eight people and understood that we were surrounded. We tried to take another step but again the voice rang out, “Keep standing, or we will shoot!” We all stood. A police daroga appeared, with a pistol on his shoulder and a gun pointed at us. He had several constables with him. He asked, “Who are you? Where are you off to?” We answered that we were students, on our way to the railway station. ‘Where will you go?’ “Lucknow.” It was two in the night, and the train to Lucknow was due at five in the morning. The daroga was not convinced. A lantern was brought. He shone it on our faces and became less suspicious. He said, “You must carry a lantern when walking about at night.” “Yes, we are sorry, please excuse us.” We went on our way, saluting him respectfully. We came across a shack in an orchard and decided to wait there. It started to rain heavily. It was the month of January and bitterly cold. We were drenched and even the ground was filled with water. We spent the night soaked and freezing in the rain and cold. It was most painful and uncomfortable. We managed to dry our clothes next morning at a dharamshala. The following day, we came to Shahjahanpur, buried our guns in the ground to conceal them and then reached Prayag.

We stayed at a dharamshala in Prayag for two or three days. It was decided that one of our members was a person of weak character and he should be killed. If he were caught, then everyone else would be in trouble.

I protested, “It is not right to kill another human being.” But the majority opinion was that he should be done away with the next day. I remained silent. There were four of us together, and a little later in the afternoon we decided to visit the fort at Jhansi. We returned in the evening, crossed the Ganga and arrived on the banks of the Yamuna. After completing my toilet, I sat on the sand to pray and meditate. I was a little away from the edge of the water, on a higher ground. One of my companions remarked, “Why don’t you sit closer to the river?” I did not respond or move and kept sitting where I was. The three of them also came and sat near me. I closed my eyes and concentrated. A few minutes later, I heard a clapping sound and thought it must be one of us saying something. And suddenly a gunshot rang out. The bullet whizzed past my ear. I immediately realised that I was the target of the bullet. I pulled out my revolver and moved forward. I turned to see one of them aiming the Mauser at me. He was the same person I had argued with a few days back, but I was under the impression that we had resolved the issue. Still, he was there trying to kill me. I faced him. He ran away after firing the third shot.
The other two who were staying with us in Prayag also ran away with him. There was a moment’s delay in me pulling out my revolver because it was kept in its leather cover. If any of them had remained for another thirty seconds or so, they would have been shot by me. I did not wish to waste my bullets by firing after all three ran away. I left. I had narrowly escaped and was lucky to have survived after being shot at from 2 yards away by a Mauser. And that too when I was sitting. I could barely comprehend how I had managed to come out of this episode alive. I was overcome with emotion and gratitude and started chanting God’s name. I lost consciousness for a minute. The revolver and its cover both fell from my hands, and if at that point anyone wanted to kill me, they could easily have. I was still upon the ground when I heard a voice calling me, “Arise!” I got up, picked up the revolver (and forgot the cover). I was wearing only a coat and a tehmad and did not have any shoes on. My hair had grown. Where could I go in such a state? Many thoughts raced through my mind.

I walked along the bank of the river, with my mind full of these thoughts. One of the things I considered was returning to the dharamshala, breaking open the lock and reclaiming my belongings. On second thought, it seemed an unwise thing to do – there may be a gunfight and a waste of life. Not an appropriate time for that. It was also not a good idea to seek revenge all alone – much better to get a few comrades along. I had an ordinary friend who lived in Prayag. I borrowed a cloth sheet from him with some difficulty and then took the train to Lucknow. I had money, so I got a haircut in Lucknow and bought a set of dhoti-kurta. Even if I did not carry cash, I would have managed because I always wore a gold ring, worth at least 40–50 rupees. I met the other comrades in Lucknow and narrated the whole episode to them. Then I went off into the forest to spend some days there, even wishing to turn to sanyas. The world meant nothing to me. Subsequently, I paid a visit to my Mata-ji and shared my experiences. She instructed me to go to Gwalior. In a few days, Mata-ji and Pita-ji all arrived at Dadi-ji’s brother’s house in Gwalior. I too was there.

The desire for revenge was burning inside me – it was all that I could think of. I even stepped out with my revolver one day with the intent to kill the enemy, but was not successful. This intense feeling and constant anxiety caused fever. I was ill for several months. Mata-ji understood what was gnawing at me. She spoke to me kindly, persuading me to give up the idea of killing the man who had shot at me, “Promise me that you will not kill the man who tried to murder you.” When I hesitated, she said, “I want this promise against the debt a son owes his mother. What is your answer?” I said, “I have already sworn revenge.” Mata-ji compelled me to break my vow for revenge. She stood her ground, and I had to bow my head in submission. From that day on, my fever abated and I was better again.

I starting wearing clothes like the villagers around me. I also began working in the fields and paid particular attention to this work. Any onlooker would have figured out that I had lived in the city, perhaps even received a little education. I was already well-built; in a few days I was transformed into a farmer. It is not an easy task to till the land here – it is an extremely hard surface and few trees grow here. There is babul, neem and maybe a mango tree or two, the rest is barren land. The ground is full of thorns (of the jharberi bush) and every time I walked to the fields, my feet would be badly injured. Initially, I found it unbearable but gradually got used to it. Soon, I was ploughing as much land as any able-bodied man in the region would do on average. Working in the fields darkened my complexion so much that when I visited Shahjahanpur, no one could recognize me. I missed the train and reached Shahjahanpur at night walking on foot. During the day, when I was walking across the city, a policeman recognized me. He immediately went off to call the other men on duty. I ran. I was already tired from the previous day’s 20-mile trudge. That day, too, I covered 35 miles on foot.

My parents helped me in this situation. I had already used up Mata-ji’s savings. Pita-ji received an order from the government that his absconding son’s arrest warrant would be executed by selling off the property that I had inherited from my grandfather. My father was so scared that he sold off his house and belongings and left Shahjahanpur. The house which was worth 2000 rupees was given away in only 800 rupees, and everything else too was sold off in distress. Whatever remained was spent in marrying off my two sisters. My parents were once again living in near-penury. The other members of the society, who too were on the run, were faring badly. For months, they ate nothing but gram and survived on a few rupees given by friends. They didn’t even have proper clothes to wear. In desperation, they had to sell off our guns and revolvers. They had little choice and couldn’t really look for work or say anything to anyone for fear of being arrested.

During this time, I thought of starting a business. I had learnt Bangla in memory of my classmate and friend, the late Sri Sushil Chandra Sen. When my younger brother was born, I named him Sushil Chandra after my friend. I thought of publishing a book series – translations from Bangla to Hindi. I believed that it would bring in some money and it was also a worthwhile pursuit. But I had no experience. I started translating the Bangla book Nihilist Rahasya.

Now when I think of it, it is rather amusing. I would herd some cows, bulls and buffaloes towards the barren lands and had nothing else to do while they grazed. So, I carried a notebook and pencil with me and used this time to translate. If the animals strayed too far, I would drop my notebook and chase after them to bring them back. I even spent a few days in a sadhu’s hut, where I had more time to translate. I would carry wheat flour for four–five days and prepare my food at his hut. When the Hindi text was ready, I published the book with the title Bolshevikon Ki Kartoos (The Bolsheviks’ Bullets) under the series called Sushil Mala (Sushil Series). The next book was Mann Ki Lehar (The Heart’s Wave). I lost about 500 rupees in this publishing business. When the government announced the pardon and release of political prisoners, I thought of returning to Shahjahanpur and doing some work to help out my parents. I had been convinced that I would not be able to roam freely in Shahjahanpur ever again in my life. But with God’s blessings it did happen. I returned to Shahjahanpur.

Excerpted with permission from A Glimpse of My Life, Ram Prasad Bismil, translated from the Hindi by Awadhesh Tripathi, Penguin India in association with The Ashoka Centre for Translation.