Byline: Alok. Sarin, Sanjeev. Jain As an introduction to the section "From the Archives," we present an excerpt from Owen Berkeley-Hill's book "All Too Human: An Unconventional Autobiography", [sup][1] an interesting early account of attempts towards the rehabilitation of those with mental illness. The excerpt reproduced here speaks for itself. We would here like to acknowledge the generosity of two people. One is Dr. S. Haque Nizamie from the Central Institute of Psychiatry, Ranchi, in sharing with us a copy of this book, which has sadly been out of print for many years. This was, in many ways, appropriate, as the Central Institute of Psychiatry is the present avatar of the European Mental Hospital in Kanke, Ranchi, which Colonel Berkeley-Hill writes about. The other is the historian Ramachandra Guha, who located a copy of the book in an antiquarian book shop many years ago, and kindly presented it to one of the authors of this piece. EXCERPT The essence of psychiatry is contained in two lines of Shakespeare: "Fetter strong madness in a silken thread, Charm ache with air and agony with words." In 1920, owing to so-called "political unrest," those who considered themselves responsible for the maintenance of peace and goodwill in Ranchi got somewhat rattled. Measures - of sorts - were not only discussed but in part actually taken to save British lives from mob fury. The Ranchi European Mental Hospital was provided with a machine-gun. I am doubtful about the provision of any ammunition for it; probably this was overlooked. Anyhow, I was tickled to death by the present and began to look around for an operator for the gun. It just happened that at that particular time I had a soldier patient who had in a moment of mental abstraction shot dead a comrade. That he had displayed numerous symptoms of being off his head before the occurrence of this unfortunate episode had escaped the notice those officers of the R.A.M.C. in whose particular charge lay his well-being. But let that pass. He was the most attractive young man and fully contrite for the crime he had quite inadvertently committed. He had a wonderful war record and possessed the Military Medal (Authors note: This was one of the 77 medals awarded to the regiment in the First World War for service in France and Flanders [sup][2] ). Among other things, he was an expert machine-gunner. I appointed M. to the post of Officer Commanding machine-gun. Shortly afterwards the General Officer Commanding, Presidency and Assam Brigade, came to Ranchi and paid the hospital a special visit. He was particularly anxious to ascertain on what sort of terms we were with the machine-gun, which had been issued to the hospital particularly because it was an unusually good one. I gave orders for the weapon to be assembled and produced, and the patient M. to appear and give a demonstration. In due course, the gun appeared, in prime condition because M. cherished it. "I congratulate you, Major Berkeley-Hill," said the General, "on the excellent manner in which you keep your machine-gun. Is there any member of your staff who thoroughly understands how to manipulate it?" "Well, sir," I replied, "I have a man here who was an expert machine-gunner in the war and to him I have entrusted the charge of the gun." "Very right and proper, Major Berkeley-Hill. You are lucky indeed to have someone on the spot who understands a machine-gun. Is he here, for I should like to meet him?" I called out: "M., step forward the General would like to speak to you." M., observing every recognized item of military punctilio, stepped forward and saluted. The General cast his eyes over M., who presented, as always, the most satisfying appearance and said: "What was your unit in the War?" "Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders, sir." "How did you come to be in this place?" enquired the General. …