Caught By The Police: The Life Story of Dr Anandswarup Gupta

By Anandswarup Gupta, Ranjit Gupta, Harsh Gupta and 3 more

Caught by the Police is the story of a talented, public-spirited and erudite man, with a multidimensional personality, a republican bent of mind, Indian values and English sensibilities. After a brilliant academic career, he joined the Royal Air Force in 1934 at the age of 19; unfortunately, he was forced to leave on contrived medical grounds.
He got into the Indian Police due to a providential combination of circumstances and events, somewhat against his inclination. But once in it, he gave his all to his profession. A brave and intrepid police officer, he went on to become a celebrated police historian. He also wrote spiritual poetry, which forms a part of the book and, interestingly, could recite Shakespeare, Ghalib and the Bhagvad Gita with equal facility.
Spanning a century of changing times, this book provides a unique account of the last decades of British Rule and the emergence of a new India, woven into the story of an extraordinary life lived in ordinary places, and a compelling family chronicle.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Roli Books
• Release date: Mar 1, 2016
• ISBN: 9789351941811

Book preview

Preface

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The book, Caught by the Police, tells the story of our beloved father, the late Dr. Anandswarup Gupta, who was born one hundred years ago on December 25, 1915, in the small mofussil town of Mainpuri in the then United Provinces (Uttar Pradesh).

2015 being the centenary year of our father’s birth, we, his children, thought we would offer as a tribute to his memory, something of lasting value both for us, his immediate family, and also for his larger family, and circle of friends, the professional community in the midst of which his work was cast, as well as for society at large. We decided, therefore, that it was an appropriate time to tell the story of his life... a story spanning a century and a half, telling of humble origins; of simple living and high thinking; of discipline, dedication, and strong moral values; of adventure and courage; and of perseverance and spirituality.

We were all excited as we set out on this venture. Gathering source material was the first crucial step. We had our grandfather’s autobiography, as also that of father’s younger sister, Smt. Kumudini Khaitan; these gave us valuable information about his family background and early childhood. We also had our memories and perceptions of father and mother and our lives as a family, but this was certainly not enough. We needed something from our father telling us about his life, we needed letters, documents, notes… we needed facts!

We remembered him telling us that he would like to write his autobiography and call it Caught By The Police. Had he started writing something? we wondered! We knew that after his retirement he would spend long hours in his library reading and writing, and we knew also that he was extremely meticulous, and we felt, therefore, that there must be papers and documents, which must be kept somewhere. We looked back to 1984, when our family home in Lucknow was sold, and thought about the couple of steel boxes which had been stored in Meera’s father-in law’s house, which was also in Lucknow. There had been no time, opportunity, or reason to look into them too closely then, or over the years, only to make sure that they were safe. Now there was a compelling and very important reason, and Meera, who now lives in the same house with her husband, did exactly that. Early one morning when she opened one of the steel trunks on which she had marked ‘old photos and papers’, she found some photographs which had got faint with age. Putting them aside, she looked further and found several plastic bags containing old files and papers. On opening the first few, she found a wealth of material, stories, and articles which father had written, and which had been published in magazines and newspapers and even text books, from a different century; also many articles on various aspects of police functioning. And then inside one very old-looking, pink file cover… typed pages with the title, Caught By The Police! With hands shaking, she turned the pages and saw that these were the first few chapters of father’s autobiography. She could hardly believe her eyes, it felt as if God had answered our prayers and sent father to tell us about a part of his life in his own words. She looked excitedly for what more precious material she could find. Another bag had hundreds of letters and documents – a virtual storehouse of authentic information about a defining period of father’s life between 1932 and 1934. And then there was more… for also among these papers was a manuscript with the title, ‘Musings’, on the cover; inside was a collection of about 50 poems, each marked with a date showing that they were written by father, largely in 1957, along with a ‘Foreword’ in his own words; there was also a small brown pocket diary, with many neatly-written jottings and poems in Hindi under the pen name of ‘Abr’. Here it was all, father’s life, in his own words, waiting to be discovered! Meera could not contain herself. It was very early morning, but she had to call all the other siblings to inform them about this serendipitous discovery. The uniform excited reaction was, Wonderful, we have struck gold!

This finding of father’s personal records, letters, diaries, copies of articles, his Musings, and also the incomplete manuscript of his autobiography was nothing short of providential, and acted as a spur and compelling motive to write and complete this book about his life and times, to coincide with his centenary year. From a perusal of these personal papers it became quite clear to us that he was very keen that his autobiography and Musings be published. We felt that it was our filial duty to do so.

We read and sifted, we remembered and shared memories, we shed tears and we laughed, and our book about father’s life took shape and got written by all five of us, jointly, and by father!

The book has been organized in two parts: Part I tells the story of his life, in chronological order.

Some chapters in the first part are largely in father’s words, as his manuscript contained a detailed description about the early important developments of his life. In chapter one, he describes his family background and childhood, bringing out the influences that shaped this early and impressionable stage; facts about this period are also gleaned from our grandfather’s autobiography and childhood memories are captured from our aunt’s story – altogether they weave a beautiful tale from a time long ago. In chapter two, he describes his brief stint with the Royal Air Force (R.A.F.) in England, and the unfortunate events, ‘deliberately contrived’ by the British, to ensure that the brilliant Indian cadet was ‘medically invalided’; he terms this as his ‘flirtation with the Royal Air Force’. In chapter three he writes about his return to India, his resilience in dealing with the aftermath of the events in England, and his determination to be a ‘graduate’ and stand on his own feet again. He then describes the events leading to his being ‘caught by the police’. In chapters four and five, father describes his early experiences in the service during British times, and later in the Police Training College (P.T.C.) and the Criminal Investigation Department (C.I.D.) in Independent India – including his unsuccessful attempts seeking to move out of the Police. Hereafter, he relates happenings in his life only sporadically, and the rest of the story, therefore, is written mostly by us, in third person. In chapter six he has very briefly touched upon his work during his tenure as the Inspector General of Police (I.G.P.) of Himachal Pradesh, which was perhaps the most fulfilling time for him and the family, and which we have described in more detail. In chapter seven, we have written about his life and experiences in the last 10 years of his service in his State of allotment, Uttar Pradesh (U.P.), along with developments on the family front. It also contains a detailed account, in his own words, of the circumstances leading to his being denied the richly and legitimately deserved opportunity of leading the Police Force in U.P., and moving to the Home Ministry as the first Director of the newly set-up Bureau of Police Research and Development (B.P.R.D.). Chapter eight contains a description of his vision and work in the B.P.R.D. and an extensive account of his research and academic work in relation to his professional domain. And, in chapter nine, we have given an account of the last six years of his life after he retired, till his premature demise, in 1981.

The book could not be an ‘autobiography’ as he did not tell his whole story; so while we have tried to retain his words in the part of the draft that he wrote, we have filled in the missing parts in third person, resulting in the book being converted into his ‘biography’, both professional and personal, and to some extent, also a family chronicle. We have made some editorial interventions in his draft and added to the narrative some interesting episodes, anecdotes, personal and family recollections, and perceptions, landmarks and highlights, including comments about public service and governance. We have written what we saw of our father, and how he left behind a precious legacy, as a police officer, as an academician, and as a father, from whom we learnt many lessons of life. And, we have mentioned also what we think is another part of his legacy, in the rare form, that all his four sons got into the highest civil services and we have described their careers and work briefly.

In Part II of the book, we have reproduced his Musings, originally titled ‘Prayers to the Lord’, and later changed by him to ‘Glimpses of Reality’. The Musings express the stirrings and yearnings of his soul, and when seen together with his life, bring out what it means to be a Karma Yogi.

For the reader’s convenience, we have appended a glossary of common Hindi words and phrases along with a list of frequently used abbreviations in the book.

A word about the title of the book: Caught By The Police. It may conjure up in the reader’s imagination a story of a suspenseful murder mystery or a crime thriller. It is not so. However, the pun in the title is, indeed, intended. For, as would be clear from some of the references in the above description of the chapters and in the story told in the book, father describes how he got pushed or sucked into the police, by what seems like some invisible force and concatenation of circumstances, against his innermost will and desire. It might truthfully be said that ‘his head was in it but his heart was not’. Nevertheless, he gave his all to being a fine police officer, and one might venture to say, was also ‘caught’ by his own urge, inclination, and commitment to leave things better than he found them in the professional sphere in which destiny had placed him. This can be seen both in his working as a police officer in the field and in his copious research and writings on all aspects of police functioning, and in his constant efforts to improve its structure, and status, and the working conditions of its men.

We feel father’s story should make for an interesting read for the curious lay reader because it is rather special and unique, even extraordinary in many ways. It is the story of a man who triumphed over great tribulations; of a dedicated, brave, and outstanding public servant in the uniform of the Indian Police, who served both before and after Independence and in changing circumstances; of a dedicated academician and researcher; of a man who was deeply religious and spiritual, but still conscious of his duties to family, society, and the country. He was restless yet steadfast, enjoyed success but was not covetous of it, and was never cowed down by adversity. In fact, he was much like the poet, Tennyson’s Ulysses, who felt that he must ‘drink life to the lees’, and be firm of will ‘to strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield’.

Writing this book has been a unique, and rewarding journey for us siblings. It has been a journey of rediscovering our father, and of reliving our lives with our parents, one more time.

With these words we offer our book as a shraddhanjali to our father. May his soul rest in peace.

PART I

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CHAPTER ONE

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Family Background and Early Life

(1915 – 1933)

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:

The Soul that rises with us, our life’s Star,

Hath had elsewhere its setting,

And cometh from afar:

Not in entire forgetfulness,

And not in utter nakedness,

But trailing clouds of glory do we come

From God, who is our home.¹

Christmas, December 25, 1915: a different century, a different world, a small village town – Mainpuri – in western Uttar Pradesh, India; our grandfather, Lala Prasadi Lal, waiting for his wife to give birth to their child in their home, with no electricity and no heating, only a local dayi and prayers for a safe delivery. And then God’s miracle – as in the birth of every newborn coming into this world, our grandmother, Saraswati Devi, delivered a healthy baby boy, who was named Anand, which means ‘joy, happiness, and bliss’. Father felt he was, perhaps, so named because he was born on the ‘merry day’.

About his birth he writes, I was the fourth son in a row and my parents were perhaps expecting a daughter to ask God to make up for the loss of their firstborn – a girl, for I was given a feminine pet name, Lali, which in colloquial Hindi is an affectionate address for a girl. He continues, This may also have been the reason why I was looked after mostly by the very faithful, very affectionate Moti, who was employed by my father as a personal domestic aide in 1913 and remained with us till the end of his life. But I was an unusually healthy child and did not cause any problems. In fact, I learnt from my mother that I had once had a sunstroke when I was barely two years old, but I recovered without much ado. Perhaps it was these early events which developed in me a strong sympathy for the common man, a habit of talking little and observing more, and a passion for self-reliance. Five more children were born to our grandparents – two daughters and three sons -bringing the family total to a ‘team of 11’. This was a family held together by the belief, engendered by their father, that each individual’s good was subject to the collective good of all, and that together they must try to lead their lives based on the principle of ‘simple living and high thinking’.

Many facts about father and his siblings’ childhoods, and about the lives and values of his parents, have been gleaned from Babuji’s² autobiography, based on the facts he recorded in his personal daily diary, which he maintained regularly – from 1896, when he was 26 years old, to 1947, when he was 77. He started his story with an apt quotation telling of his humble origins, and suggesting the importance of simplicity and hard work:

"Let not ambition mock their useful toil,

Their homely joys or destiny obscure,

Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile

The short and simple annals of the poor."³

His great grandfather (Lala⁴ Jit Mal) and grandfather (Lala Darbari Mal) were middle-class people engaged in small businesses in village Sarawa, tahsil Hapur, in Meerut District. Babuji mentions that his father, Lala Faquir Chand, born in 1842, wanted to join the Thomason College of Civil Engineering (now the Indian Institute of Technology, I.I.T., Roorkee) after the Sepoy Mutiny of 1857 but that he could not do so mainly because he had read only Persian. He adopted a literary career to start with but later secured a government job, serving as a Revenue Official which lasted for approximately 13 years. In order to ensure better opportunities for his children’s formal education, he gave up his job and moved to the city of Ghaziabad, Uttar Pradesh, earning a modest income by juggling between several occupations, often working late into the night. This striving for better and higher education became a recurring driver in the lives of all the generations of the family. Babuji recollects how his father was extremely disciplined, hardworking, deeply religious, and frugal in personal expenditure. The message he learnt from his father, and which influenced the way he conducted his own life, and which he also wanted his children to follow, is clear from the following lines quoted in his autobiography as he describes the above facts:

"The heights by great men reached and kept

Were not attained by sudden flight,

But they, while their companions slept,

Were toiling upward in the night."⁵

Babuji, the second among six children, was born on the night of Janamashtmi, on August 19, 1870 – a strange coincidence that our grandfather was born on Krishna’s birthday and our father on that of Jesus! After early education in Ghaziabad, he was admitted to the Church Mission High School, in Meerut and passed the Middle Examination in 1887 in the First Division with a scholarship. He writes, I drew a scholarship in Mathematics all along since 1885. My headmaster, Mr. Lazurus Jeremy, nicknamed me ‘Munshi-i-Mukhtasar’. I passed the first Entrance Examination of the Allahabad University in 1889 also in First Division. He then qualified for and joined the prestigious Thomason College of Engineering, Roorkee, which his father could not, standing third in order of merit and getting a scholarship of ƀ10 per month, plus free admission for two years, both important for continuing his higher education. He writes, I started college education with ƀ80, bought a few second-hand books and a third-hand drawing instrument box, and kept the expenses to the lowest possible figure. Modesty of means remained a constant feature in the family, but it was never seen as a lack, and acted, rather, as an impetus, instilling in the children of each generation a fierce desire to excel in their studies and all other endeavours. On graduating he secured the higher Sub-engineer Certificate with first-class marks and was one of the five boys of his batch who got ‘guaranteed’ appointments, in what was regarded as an Imperial Service in 1892. He was posted to the Ratlam-Godhra Railway Constructions in Central India as an Apprentice Overseer.

Babuji served in the department with dedication and commitment for 33 years. Father recalls: He was utterly honest and outspoken in his official duties. Early in 1905, he was told by a British Executive Engineer – who had, undeservedly, written a bad inspection report on his work, during his absence on leave, under the influence of one of his favoured European subordinates who had himself committed various irregularities – that ‘India was taken by the sword, and we will, therefore, uphold our men and condemn you, however efficiently you work.’ In reply, father simply reminded him of some of the facts recorded in the history books, which he had read at school. The Executive Engineer was furious and gave him a very bad confidential report. He represented against the report, and, undaunted, continued to work according to his own ideals. Even though Babuji never wavered from the path of duty, and regularly received appreciation and commendation, including personal letters, from his British and Indian superiors, he often felt that he had not got his just dues. For instance, about some work that he undertook in Kheri district between 1905 and 1912, he writes, The Governor, H.H. Sir John Hewett, sent me a personal letter of appreciation. The Executive Engineer, in consultation with the District Collector (D.C.), Mr. Faunthorpe, recommended me for promotion to Assistant Engineer in 1908. However, the Superintending Engineer, Mr. Boyce, considered me ‘yet young’. I was 38 then!

In 1917, while he held charge of Cawnpore District, he was told by the Sub-engineer that he had recommended Babuji for a title twice, but nothing came of it. Writing about all this, father says, The appreciation of the authorities for his good work came to father again and again, but only in words. There seemed to be a cruel fate which stood between him and his further promotion. The disappointment over this was made all the more galling because of repeated transfers at short intervals. But then, even as Babuji lamented in his autobiography that, I never got anything, despite hard work and dedication, he recalled Lord Krishna’s words in the Bhagvad Gita that ‘Action is Thy duty, Fruit is not Thy concern’. This also became one of the most important guiding principles of father’s life, and he often used to recite the original to us:

"Karmanye vadhikaraste

ma phalesu kadachana;

ma karmaphalaheturbhurma

te sango’stvakarmani."

Talking about Babuji’s integrity, father recalls a striking incident which influenced him greatly when he was but a child: "Christmas day used to be popularly called bara din, and there was a custom in British times to give dalis to officials on that day. My father also used to get them, in spite of the fact that he steadily discouraged the practice. I remember one Christmas Day – it was my birthday – one of the dalis contained what seemed to me a new tin of Nice biscuits. I followed the dali into my father’s office and was very happy when father accepted it and ordered it to be sent inside. He was very particular not to accept anything that had the faintest scent of bribery, and had insisted that his dalis be confined to vegetables and fruits. When my mother opened the tin of biscuits she was shocked to discover several gold mohurs below a couple of top layers of biscuits, and, with nervous haste, sent the whole dali back to father in his office. I have rarely seen my father so angry as he was on that day. He returned the dali and told the contractor very plainly what he thought of him, and informed him that, while he remained in the district, that gentleman would not get any contract. My immediate reaction was obviously one of disappointment. I could not understand why father had returned the lovely gold mohurs. But as I grew up and understood the significance of the incident, it had a powerful influence on me and made me determined that honesty was a virtue that must never be sacrificed. I could not even have dreamed then, however, that I was destined to spend the best part of my life in a much condemned service, in which many varied temptations would face me as they have done. These have, however, always vividly reminded me of that tin of biscuits and my father’s angry reaction. I have, like him, loved honesty more than daily bread. Father also describes how Babuji did not care too much for material possessions, and twice when the banks in which he held his savings failed, which caused losses that he could not afford, he was not overly distressed and wrote in his diary, What is mine will remain mine; why worry? What is not, will not; this is my conviction." Father’s elder brother Harish Chandra – in a tribute he wrote when Babuji passed away – quoted from an Urdu poem composed by Babuji under the pen name ‘Zaar’:

"Zaar qail hai kirishmo ka teri yarab mudam,

Shart koshish hai khwa hon kitni hi mushkilatein talkh"

The lines mean: ‘O God, Zaar has always been convinced of your miracles. The condition is that one continues to make an effort no matter how bitter the difficulties.’

Babuji retired from service in 1926, on a pension of ƀ295, with the responsibility of settling all his children the eldest of whom was 18 years old and the youngest three. He wrote in his diary, Good, I am now free, after a service of 34 years. Thank God. However, the great responsibility of settling my large family still remains with me. I feel sure God will help me. He moved with his family to Mainpuri where he had bought two small, condemned⁶ cottages of the Public Works Department (P.W.D.) at their book value, while he was still in the service. Father recalls how Babuji "got extensive repairs carried out to both the houses all by himself, without employing any mistry or munshi and they took on an entirely new and attractive shape in less than a year. We had a large compound and lived in the bigger bungalow, while the smaller one was rented out to tenants."

The famous poet Rabindranath Tagore wrote in his autobiography My Reminiscences that the history of one’s life was really only a collection of ‘the pictures of life’s memories’ rather than a ‘chronicle of dates and events’. Incidents, both pleasant and unpleasant, that leave an impression on us become a part of our remembered past, and when we look back these become the story of our lives. Both father and his sister Smt. Kumudini Khaitan (hereafter, referred to as Bua) recapture their growing up years in a collage of memories in their autobiographies⁷, recreating for us a vivid picture of their happy childhood. Father writes, "Our life in Mainpuri was very simple. Our houses were outside the municipal limits to the east of the town, and the Govt. High School to which we were admitted was just outside the town to the west, the distance from the house to the school being some three miles. We used to go to school in a tonga, which stayed on there to bring us back. Unlike my brothers, I was very fond of games and sports and used to go to school again in the evening on a bicycle. He writes further, There was no electricity supply in Mainpuri in those days and we had an array of kerosene lamps, whose lighting in the evening was a fascinating exercise for us young ones." A simple activity, remembered fondly even years later, shows the excitement the children must have felt as each Petromax lamp came to life in the gathering darkness – something so difficult to imagine in a world where lights come on instantly upon clicking a switch! Though there was no electricity in those days, studying and other activities were not neglected, rather they were completed well in time while it was still light. In fact, after completing school homework, as darkness overtook daylight, it used to be family and fun time for the children, a time for stories, singing, jokes and laughter.

There is a particular incident that brings out a special characteristic of father, one that was displayed several times in many ways throughout his life. He recalls vividly and in great detail: There was a Government Agricultural Farm across the road in front of our house. At the tube well in the farm, there was a small reservoir which was filled with water through a pipe of about a six-inch diametre. We used to bathe in this reservoir frequently and bending backwards we used to catch hold of the pipe with our hands and put our heads close in front of it with the result that the water flowed over our heads. The edge of the pipe had sharpened with the constant flow of water and one day I put my head a little too close to the pipe and received a cut without realizing it. The copious flow of blood started turning the water in the reservoir red and when all of us felt over our bodies and heads, it was discovered that it was I who had received a cut. We went back home immediately and the wound was dressed up, which actually meant stitching up without any anaesthetic. I did not fuss about it at all. A few days later, it was found that the wound had gone septic. The doctor was called and he reopened and scraped it without administering chloroform. The scene and the scraping sound has come back to my mind many times. Anyway, I was once again praised by my family for putting up with the ordeal bravely.

Father uses the word ‘again’ because an incident had occurred in 1920, when he was but five years old and he had been similarly praised for being very brave. He writes, "An incident occurred which was, perhaps, a very early indication of the profession that I was destined to follow in life, though naturally, no one thought of it that way at the time. One night, while father was on tour, burglars broke into our house. It was the scorching month of May. We were sleeping in the front verandah of the bungalow. The burglars were using matchsticks to light their way to whatever they wanted to steal. My elder brother, woken up by nature, saw this appearance, disappearance, and reappearance of brief flashes of light inside the house and guessed the origin correctly. He immediately tried the doors and finding all bolted from inside, broke a pane in one and dropped me inside to open it.