Ode to a Unknown Soldier

Is it not strange that 62 years after the nation gained Independence, one little citizen has dared to carve this unpolished encomium in honor of the great sacrifices you have made, so that I can sit leisurely at my cozy little room and write these lines. We had not made efforts to know your name, your language, religion or even caste, because for those who matter today in the country, these are really immaterial. Mind you they will dig up your graves even after a century if that will move them an inch forward, and spend millions of rupees from the national trasury, without any qualms of conscience! But that is a different story, you may be well aware of!

True, I did not even venture to verify if you are a male or a female, or even the third gender! I know you have betrayed a wicked smile, and I do understand that whatever be the gender, there were people who placed their lives at the altar of freedom, without realizing that they would never taste of it! There were no press photographers flocking to you, to have that rare 'shot' for their exclusive story. For them you were not even worth a line at the last page, and so is my blog in your honor! I would have been delighted to post your photo on my blog, if only I could find one!

I know you are suspecting why I ventured to shower these beautiful words in your honour! Have I anything to gain out of this? You know only too well that in the midst of over the one hundred and ten crore people, who is this one little creature, trying to dig up the old graves! I can still see the boot-marks of the great men who trampled over your graves with utter insensitivity, not realizing that the freedom that we enjoy today, and they milk today is but the fruit of your labour! The annals of this great nation were written in your blood, and today it is they who have changed history! Forgive them dear, forgive them!

Do you believe that with the Indian Independence, all the maladies which haunted the nation were gone for ever? No, today we are infested with a far severe malady, the men and women who would sell the nation to fill their belly; people who would let hundreds and thousands die in the name of development; leaders who can blindly sell the national pride to other wealthier nations, with no sense of shame! Look around and see, what the freedom you fought for has come to! Look at the millions still starving in the remote corners of the nation, dalits and tribals still struggling to get what is rightfully their own, the indigenous people being decimated day by day! Look brother, sister, look around!

It is time for you to rise up from your grave, to don your costumes and march into the lanes and bylanes of our nation! Let the trumpet sound, and let all the souls of the departed martyres rise up to reclaim the land for her people! You will not be remembered henceforth in this lonesome pillar in the midst of vast expanse; you will live in the hearts of every Indian, living and dead! But rise up Brother, rise up Sister, before it is too late! As you rise up, I bow my head in humble adoration and reverance, for you are truly a son and daughter worth your name, and your Mother will only be honored by your valor! May your clan increase!

Cost of Freedom

Celebration of the anniversary of the Indian Independence is an appropriate time to reflect on the cost of freedom; how much have we paid and what have we paid to enjoy independence, which has put the world’s largest democracy into the world map? What was my share in acquiring this freedom? I might proudly hark that I was not even born when the nation gained independence, or else I would have given even my life for it. Needless to say, several selfless men and women had given their lives, fighting fierce battle with the British, to free their motherland. It is their sweat and blood that gave us this nation, which we can call truly our own.

We have a stereotyped list of freedom fighters, under the leadership of Mahatma Gandhi, followed by a host of leaders who were instrumental in actualizing the freedom. Subhash Chandra Bose, Chittaranjan Das, Moulana Abul Kalam Azad, to name a few, were front runners in the freedom struggle. But today I think it is important that we turn our focus from these illustrious figures to the unknown freedom fighters whose names would never find place in the long list of glorious persons who gave their lives, so that we might have a better tomorrow.

The real strength of the Indian national movement or call it the fight for a free India, was not so much the big leaders who led the struggle from city to city, but the quiet foot-soldiers who fought quietly in the remote corners of this vast nation. Most often the names of these sincere and faithful children of Mother India are simply obliterated, so that the mighty and the powerful will win the glitter and the gold. They are often included in the list of the ‘unknown’ soldiers, with a barren pillar standing in the midst of rain and shine, with none to care.

Today we recall to mind the spirit of sagacity that these men and women in different parts of the country exhibited, going beyond any political or social or communitarian leanings. Their thirst for freedom has found the nation breaking free, but these small fry have been swallowed by the monstrous leaders who took hold the fate of the nation. Today it is time to call for another freedom struggle, to free the nation from the corrupt, power-hungry, immoral, selfish leaders, who know only one thing – to make the nation to fulfill their personal goals and objectives. It is time that the souls of these foot-soldiers rise from their ashes, and reclaim the nation for her people.

The cry of mother India pining for love and care for her marginalized children echoes in the skies; she wept the fate of her children even as the Prime Minister hoisted the tricolor at the ramparts of the Red Fort. The cry of a mother cannot go in vain, so they say; if that be true, then there is sure to be a resurgence, when her children will rise to bring the same pristine honor and glory that she had been enjoying for centuries. It is our turn to blow the trumpet, chime the temple bells, draw out our swords and daggers, because here begins our ‘dharmakshetra, kurukshetra’!