Robbers retreated, tigers turned tail as a rickety automobile sped out of the Himalayas late one night last week. In the car was little baldheaded, featherweight Mahatma Gandhi. He had just two hours to cover 100 miles—over roads so perilous that night driving is usually prohibited—to Kalka. Arriving at Kalka in time's nick, he was cheered by a crowd of devotees as he boarded the frontier express for Bombay. En route, admirers gave him coins and homespun yarn. One woman auspiciously sprinkled his forehead with red powder....
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