I was having tea at home on the evening of 30th January, 1948, when I was called to Birla house by an urgent telephone. Gandhiji had been shot on way to a prayer meeting. I was numb with shock as I got into the car.
At the Birle House, Gandhiji's relayives and followera had gathered round his body. There was silence in the room as Gandhiji breathed his last. Worda of Bapuji's death had spread through Delhi like a flame fanned by wind. Sad groups of men and women had collected around Birla House. Out of every window one could see a brown blur of faces. They did not make a sound. There was an unnatual silence. It was as if time stood still for those few minutes.But