It boots not to speak here of his enormous sacrifices—his selfless pursuit of a great ideal—Self-Government for India. Unique was his position at the Bar. He had mounted to that eminence by unflinchingly adhering to the great traditions of his profession. And when at its very pinnacle—with his fame resounding throughout India and briefs pouring in in unceasing flow—he determined to forsake it all, and to dedicate himself to his country’s cause—scorning worldly allurements—flinging wealth away, and, like St. Bernard, taking poverty as his bride, and spirituality as the supreme ambition of his life.
It was the compelling love of his country—the consuming eagerness to secure her dues—that determined his choice—irrevocably fixed his purpose. He was a patriot—saturated with patriotism, not like many, a make-believe one—with an easily rendible mask. His political career is only too well known to call for a detailed account here.
But what was it that gave C. R. Das that power—that influence—that primacy among his fellow-citizens? I had known C. R. Das for a quarter of a century, and knew him pretty well. To my mind there were two outstanding qualities which made him what he was, his burning love for his country, and his shining spirit of charity.
Long before he stood out before the world as a political figure of incomparable excellence, he discussed, felt, brooded over his country’s woes—uttered his country’s hopes—dreamed of the ways and means which would lead her to honorable prosperity. Was he not a preacher of India’s political aspirations even in the far-off days of his early manhood? Still in my ears ring some of the sentences of his speeches delivered in England before he was called to the Bar. They were prophetic of his subsequent career—an earnest of what was to come.
As the years passed by, this passion for his country waxed stronger and stronger—completely subduing, conquering
