Gandhi Page #50

For the first time he is truly angry.

WALL BY A BEACH - EXTERIOR - DAY

A young British subaltern trots up to the wall and looks

down. His face falls.

BRITISH SUBALTERN

Oh, my God!

The beach. Subaltern's point of view. Packed with people

making salt, selling salt, buying salt.

Resume the British subaltern. He looks back.

His point of view. Behind him there is an open military truck

and about twenty sepoys. Formidable for an ordinary crowd,

nothing to handle this. The subaltern stiffens bravely and

signals the men somewhat unconvincingly from the truck.

SUBALTERN:

Right -- jump to it -- clear this

beach!

SMALL WAREHOUSE - INTERIOR - DAY

Men, women and children are making little paper packets of

salt from piles heaped along long tables. A group of policemen

barge into the room, knocking tables and salt and paper in

every direction with their lathis, seizing some of the

volunteers for arrest.

In the chaos an old man calmly picks up a piece of paper

from the floor, a handful of salt, and folds another packet.

WIDE CITY STREET - EXTERIOR - DAY

Nehru is on the back of a big open truck that is stationary

in the street. The truck is loaded with boxes that contain

salt packets and Nehru and eight or nine others are selling

them to people who flock about the truck. The sound of horses.

Nehru lifts his head.

Mounted Indian police are coming down either side of the

street, a wave of foot police running forward down the center.

Some of the people run, others deliberately stand fast.

The mounted police converge on the truck. Nehru is grabbed,

and hurled so that he half falls, half leaps to the street.

One of the men with him is knocked along the ground by a

policeman. He is young and vigorous and he swivels on the

ground as though to strike back. Nehru lunges toward him.

NEHRU:

No violence, Zia!

And a lathi is brought smashing across the side of Nehru's

head. He is knocked to his knees; blood streams from his

head. He feels the side of his head, the blood soaking his

hand. He struggles to his feet, facing the policeman who has

struck him.

NEHRU:

(repeating quietly,

as though to Zia)

...no violence.

It stops the policeman for a second, and a sergeant suddenly

intrudes, recognizing Nehru.

SERGEANT:

You're Nehru --

NEHRU:

I'm an illegal trader in salt.

The sergeant sighs grimly.

LORD IRWIN'S OFFICE - INTERIOR - NIGHT

The desk lights are on. Irwin, the senior police officer,

the principal secretary. Tension, fatigue, frustration as

the senior police officer outlines the situation.

SENIOR POLICE OFFICER

...There's been no time to keep

figures, but there must be ninety --

a hundred thousand under arrest.

(Grimly, incredibly)

And it still goes on.

IRWIN:

(impatiently)

Who's leading them?

SENIOR POLICE OFFICER

I don't know! Nehru, Patel, almost

every Congress Official is in jail...

and their wives and their children --

we've even arrested Nehru's mother.

PRINCIPAL SECRETARY

(shrewdly)

Has there been any violence?

SENIOR POLICE OFFICER

(distracted, offhand)

Oh, in Karachi the police fired on a

crowd and killed a couple of people

and --

(and this hurts)

and in Peshawar the Deputy Police

Commissioner lost his head and...

and opened fire with a machine gun.

(He looks up at them

quickly, defensively.)

But he's facing a disciplinary court!

You can't expect things like that

not to happen when --

IRWIN:

(dryly)

I believe the question was intended

to discover if there was any violence

of their side.

The senior police officer looks up, realizing his gaffe and

wishes desperately he could relive the last couple of minutes.

SENIOR POLICE OFFICER

Oh, no, sir -- no, I'm afraid not.

PRINCIPAL SECRETARY

(again the

Machiavellian mind)

Perhaps if we arrested Gandhi, it

might --

He means incite violence. The Viceroy ponders it -- favorably.

IRWIN:

(to senior police

officer)

He's addressed this letter directly

to you, has he?

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