(I know it’s a little weird, but this time let’s start from the end)
It was now inexorable to escape. The huge white man was looking at him. The man placed his index finger on the trigger of his 303 Lee Enfield rifle and pressed it – Rohan knew he was the target. He closed his eyes and waited for the bullet to penetrate his body.
(That’s how the story ends.
Now, how did I end up piercing a bullet in my story’s protagonist?
Read on to find out.)
14th August, 2014
11:30 pm.
Rohan was lethargic and feeling drowsy. He glided onto his bed and turned off the lights.
He was now arranging his pillow when suddenly a bright glistering white light sparked in front of him. He panicked – his heart thumping loudly in his chest.
The light gradually took different uncanny shapes and eventually turned into a small little girl who was all white and sparkly. Her face, skin, hair, the flossy skirt she was wearing, legs, sandals – every part of her was white and beaming with radiance.
“I’m here to show you something”, she said, “come, hold my hand.”
Rohan shrugged back.
“Believe in me,” she said with most transcending voice that Rohan had ever heard of.
Now Rohan – mesmerized by the beauty and innocence of the little girl’s voice – found her innocuous and grabbed her hand.
“Close your eyes”, said the girl looking at Rohan’s fearful eyes. Rohan, still bewitched by her charm closed his eyes without any second thoughts.
A second later Rohan could feel some hustle bustle going on around him. His eyes were still closed and his mind still infused with fear of the unknown.
“You can open your eyes now”, came the sweet voice again.
Rohan opened his eyes to see men and women celebrating through dancing and rolling on the ground. They were all looking like happy to go lunatics.
“It’s the time of The Raj. Year 1911. Mohun Bagan, a local football team has just beaten the East Yorkshire Regiment in the finals of IFA, 2-1.”
Rohan was still quiet.
“The people you see rolling on the ground are members of the Muslim Sporting Club, celebrating the victory of their Hindu brethren”, continued the girl, “After this football victory, nationalist sentiments rose and scattered to the masses of West Bengal, terrorist activities increased and ultimately Britishers had to change the capital from Kolkata to Delhi.”
Rohan was still quiet. No longer was he mesmerised by the girl’s beauty as now it didn’t seem important. Never ever in his life had he seen such joyous smiles and excitement as the dancing men possessed and that too for a football victory!
“That’s not just a football win, I guess!” he said glancing at the girl,” there’s something more to it – it’s the sense of being free.”
“HOPE would be the correct word, Rohan”, said the little girl, “ and hope is a strong belief.”
They now headed on to the much quieter part of the road.
“So, you’re trying to imbibe a feeling of nationality in me, right? But let me tell you, those were different times then”, said Rohan, “ people actually had a sense of unity back then. But now times have changed, there’s a whole new scenario now. I guess we’d always need a bunch of outsiders ruling over us to get a sense of togetherness and patriotism in our heads.”
“You’re wrong Rohan”, said the girl, reaching for Rohan’s hands, “let me take you to another place.”
Rohan wasn’t scared now. He took the little girl’s hand and closed his eyes. Deep down inside even he wanted her to prove him wrong.
The next moment he saw himself in a crowded stadium – wresting stadium it was! He was among the spectators who were gradually standing up.
“It’s the CWG-glasgow. Sushil Kumar, the Indian wrester has just won the gold medal match,”said the little girl, standing behind Rohan. She pointed towards the corner where the Indian wrester was standing above the other wresters on the podium- a beaming smile on his face. “It’s time for the National Anthem. Stand straight.”
In no time the tune of Indian National Anthem started to enwrap Rohan’s ears. He went dumbstruck! A tingling wave sweeped his body and on the spur of the moment Pride filled his heart. The very next moment he saw the tricolour going up and now he could feel a lump in his throat.
His sentiments – INTENSE!
Every Indian around him could be seen full of pride and gratification when suddenly Rohan noticed a boy of around 4 or 5 standing exceptionally straight, the tricolour around his body and singing the National Anthem at the top of his voice synchronous with the tune. The boy’s face looked proudest of all the crowd and Rohan couldn’t help but watch the boy and smile.
After the National Anthem was over all of the spectators screamed –
INDIAaaaaaaaaaaa……….INDIAaaaaaaaaaaaaa!
And Rohan was the loudest of the lot!
(Picture this – our tricolour moving up in front of our eyes and the National Anthem in the background – wow! The Feels.)
“Who are you?” asked Rohan eyeing the girl while walking down the lonely street outside the stadium.
“I’m what the people celebrating Mohun Bagan’s victory felt, I’m what the spectators felt when the Indian flag went up in Glasgow for Sushil Kumar’s gold medal win, I was entrenched in Bhagat Singh’s heart when he decided to sow sticks in soil so that they could grow to become rifles, I was there in every individual who went for the Dandi march, I was there in every freedom fighter’s heart, I’m still there in every soldier’s heart, and now I’m here,” the girl said, touching the left side of Rohan’s chest, “ Some people keep me in their heads – they are the corrupt lot of our nation. I am to be kept in hearts, not brains.”
“I meet people who’ve lost me in their hearts. You were one of them, Rohan. But now you’ve accepted me, you’ve felt me and that’s my victory.”
They stopped on a cross road.
“I’ve to go now,”said the girl.
“Hey don’t,”said Rohan.
“Don’t worry Rohan,” said the girl in a reassuring tone, “I’ll always be in your heart. Though you won’t see me again but I can be felt, everyday, any time.
Feel me while looking at the tricolour, feel me when doing your bit for the nation you were born in, feel me when reciting the National Anthem, feel me when remembering the great Sipahis and officers who showed utter bravery and laid down their lives at the borders and a still continue to do so, feel me when remembering the great freedom fighters because of whom we’re a free country now and moreover feel me when eating a gol-gappa, feel me when applying a jugaad, feel me when adding water to the little bit of left shampoo, feel me when eating the ‘maa ka khana’, feel me while helping your fellow countrymen, feel me whenever you encounter such small bits of wondrous Indianism.
Remember, I’ll reside in every man who works, believes and primarily HOPES for a better India. Because HOPE is a strong belief.”
Rohan was enlightened.
But now he knew it was the end of this haunting yet wonderful dream.
“What am I supposed to do now?” asked Rohan, “Should I pinch myself to get out of this dream?”
“You think of it as a dream?” asked the girl walking away, “hahahaha! Just close your eyes Rohan!”
Rohan saw the girl walking away. The shiny light now faded as she moved along the road and finally disappeared.
Rohan took a deep breath, closed his eyes and said to himself, “okay, time to go back home Rohan.”
The next moment Rohan could hear screams, cries and gunshots. He quickly opened his eyes and he knew where he was – Jallianwala Bagh. The massacre was happening right in front of his eyes. Men and women were jumping into the solitary well to escape the shootings. Bodies covered with blood were all over the ground and cries of the wounded echoed the whole arena. Rohan had no option but to run. He already knew that the exists were closed and there wasn’t a single way out. Albeit he ran until his body was full of sweat.
Suddenly he saw a white man pointing his gun towards him and that is when Rohan was shot.
(So guys, as the little girl said, always try to treasure the small bits of our wondrous Indianism.
Don’t be just proud of the Indian culture or the Indian Army – as a matter of fact some of us aren’t even proud of these yet – be proud while saying ‘namaste’, be proud while applying the Indian jugaad, be proud to wear the old hawai chappals, GIRLS be proud to wear a sari, GUYS be proud to wear the great Indian moustache look (coolest thing ever)- because that is what makes us INDIANS.
AND NEVER EVER forget what the freedom fighters did as well as the Indian soldiers and the untold Indian Heroes still do for our country. A proud salute to all of them.
And yes! A salute to everything Indian.
JAI HIND.)
Wait, Wait, Wait…..there’s something more…..
Rohan opened his eyes. Surroundings were still blur. He tried lifting his right hand to rub his watery eyes but his hands were still feeling heavy. Sweat was all over his body.
He blinked.
Clearer view.
More blinks – he was in his room.
Alas! Being in the same old room was so reassuring.
It was still dark outside. Suddenly he saw the girl appearing before him from nowhere (he still knew he was imagining things)
“What do you feel now?” she asked
“YOU,”said Rohan. He closed his eyes and slept.
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