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| - From StoryStar 2014 The lanky, old man ambled along India Gate. He had a round egghead with large ears that seemed to highlight the rotund, rimmed glasses adorning his frail yet glowing face. He had a perennial smile on, though! He had known Delhi to be a historic venue of many a political battle of warring hearts, witty minds, devious brains and dimwits, across the ages of its existence. The last he had walked the pathways was just before his assassination on that fateful morning of January 30th. The topography had changed drastically and the lifestyles too had transformed, dramatically! No longer was it a serene city of lush green trees and sleepy old villages clustered around the hub of all capital activity! The greenery was confined to a select corner whilst tar roads with motor vehicles of all foreign make were racing one another, if only ignoble in the traffic jams being created as a result of the mad rush. Nobody seemed to give right of way to anybody. Sign boards were hung at the wrong places and there was certainly a hell of a lot of going around to be done if one were a tourist or out of the era visitor, like himself! He was a man with a mission. In his earlier birth, he recollected how as a young student, he was made to atone for his sin of meat eating abroad upon his return to native place; how he wed a young bride; how he mobilised strength to act as a galvanising force to the local Indian community in Durban where bubonic plague stuck killing thousands of people, and his compatriots were a wholly unorganised lot; how he, though a barrister, was thrown out of a first class railway compartment, although he held a valid first class ticket, because of the colour of his skin; how he was felt it as an affront to his dignity and self-respect and returned to his homeland, India; how he sensed the crying pleas of people at large in the land of many princely states, wealth and grandeur for freedom from the foreign yoke; how the tyranny of a sizeable number of wicked Englishmen led to rebellion and revolt from the people of a most hospitable, loving land that had let the east India company plunder its riches like rate gems, gold, silver, jewellery, spices, condiments, silks and many countless treasures; how the divide and rule policy of the foreign colonialists had led to a break in harmony among people professing different religions as a private faith in life; how he led the salt satyagraha and the countless fasts and non violence movement; how the entire country was inspired by his writings in the young Indian, a mouthpiece; how Sir A.O.Hume and Annie Besant of the Theosophical society had impressed him; how the Congress party began to see divisions of thought and Jinnah began to be seeking self glory; how the Vijayawada session of the party and the Round Table Conference in London had helped veer the cause of the Indian Nation; how Jawaharlal, his good friend, had a soft corner for certain people and regions whilst Netaji Subhadhchandra Bose founded the Azad Fauj army on the Burma front an Sardar Vallabhai Patel, C.K.Rajagopalachari and several other statesmen accepted his ideology of non-violent movement and boycott of foreign spun yarn; how eventually he had to relent to the partition of the motherland by foreign rulers that had the last laugh by dividing the entire Indian sub-continent as they left under extreme protests against oppression, wickedness, tyranny, subjugation, slavery and internecine wars occasioned by diplomacy of the governors sent by Her Majesty of Great Britain; how sad he was on hearing news of riots on the western and eastern frontiers; how he was shot by a most unlikely assassin even as he was participating in a prayer meeting! Yes, he did fulfill the destined purpose of his birth in that lifetime when on August 15th, 1947 at the stroke of midnight, India won freedom and joined the comity of free countries in a new world order! Now, on this the second day of October, 2013, when his birth anniversary was being celebrated by a nation grateful to him, indebted to his steadfastness and focused strategy to free countless number of compatriots from unbridled reign of terror, plunder, loot, murder and other unspeakable crimes by foreign colonial rule, the Mahatma had set foot in flesh and blood, in answer to the many prayers of anguished countrymen! He knew not as to what had transpired in the intervening decades after his death. But, he knew that the cries for help rang loud and touched his soul, restless and never at peace since his ghastly killing... He had been greatly influenced by his Guru, acharya Vinobha Bhave, the founder of the bhoodan movement that sough to distribute land for landless poor citizens and also fought against cow slaughter in India. Vinobhaji had revealed to him the essence of Bhagwad Geeta, the Voice of Prophecy, Philosophy and Blessing of God (as revealed by Lord Sri Krishna to Arjuna, the warrior prince who had got depressed on noticing that all his adversaries in war were kith & kin, not strangers). By far, this was the most revealing part of the world's largest epic, the Mahabharata and it's philosophy was metaphysical, an eye opener to deal with matters of life and death; birth and growth; good and bad; evil and punishment; conscience and crime; relatives and relationships, and every other conceivable facet of mankind - all comprised in eighteen chapters! It had taken him three long years of living at the Paunar Ashram to grasp the essence of the Geeta and all it has to offer to every race, generation, era of mankind! His character was moulded and redesigned by the knowledge of the innate principles of dharma (there still was no equivalent to this mighty word of Sanskrit in any dictionary or religion of the world, he chuckled) and he was confident of it carrying him through any situation, age and era of societal existence! Well, he gave a toothless, friendly smile to the soldiers and many tourists that gather around Rajghat, the memorial erected to perpetuate his memory. But, none seemed to acknowledge him: it was as if he did not exist at all. This puzzled him before he heard the playful laughter of a few little children from across the lush, green turf area and as he approached them, he noticed at least half a dozen look alikes of himself! The youngest was a child of twelve years and the oldest was nearly sixty years old: all were dressed in his famous, frugal wear and painted with silver colour and a few passers by were dropping coins into the bowls they held in one hand while the long, walking stick was in another hand. No wonder, the soldiers guarding his memorial and the other visitors assumed he was another imposter of himself! What an irony, he mumbled to himself. And, he took a stroll along the breathtaking landscape structure designed to honour him and all he had stood for, in that birth! He heard a foreign couple discuss about Martin Luther King of America and then of a certain Nelson Mandela of South Africa [a land dear to a certain portion of his past lifetime, he mused!] who was acclaimed as a Gandhian and was said to be heartily alive even as a vast number of his well wishers were prepared for obits a few months back: ah, the world still has it's share of evil folk? So, these were television cameras and could beam and flash news in real time? He looked around for a newspaper but a school student informed him of Internet technology and iPads and smartphones being in vogue. He also learnt of some pleasing news: India, his dear motherland, had scaled heights in space, scientific research, technology and education frontiers. The mahatma was filled with tears and almost wept inconsolably when he learnt of brain drain, of agriculture being neglected, of rampant corruption permeating administration a different levels, of criminals reigning in politics, of rise in lawlessness and changing societal mores including the collapse of the joint family system, of increased consumerism leading to national leaders sporting best world brands from overseas, of everything undesirable, unthinkable and unimaginable taking place in the country he fathered, so to speak! He then noticed that the sun had set and dusk had fallen. A whole set of artificial lights illuminated the area. Soon, he was ushered out as the gates were being closed. Where should he turn his footsteps to at this hour and place, he asked himself. Of course, to the traditional dinner the President must be hosting on the auspicious day, he answered. And, he found his way there only to be halted by gun toting security personnel. They checked him for any explosives he may be carrying on his person ignoring his protests, pointing out to his loin cloth attire. An affable looking older guard gave a friendly smile and told him- 'bapu, everybody takes mahatma's name and apes his words ... Today, it is fashionable for even terrorists to wear Gandhiji's attire and trouble us ... So, please understand... And, yes, there is no party today. His Excellency has left abroad this afternoon on an official tour...' The mahatma then traced his path to the lawns of the Prime minister's official residence assuring himself of being able to meet the worthy successors of the constituent assembly of Free India. He was surprisingly redirected to the house of good old Jawaharlal Nehru's daughter's daughter in law, a foreigner turned Indian national, who it appeared was the de facto head of government even though a bureaucrat turned politician was the de jure prime minister! Oh dear, what a state of affairs has befallen on the nation called India! As he stepped closer, an army officer saluted him and said- 'Bapuji, I will let you in upon my personal guarantee. I will record you as my grand father from the village. I only hope you would not create any problem in there!' A light of hope glittered. The glint in mahatma's eyes shone. He nodded and said, ' yes, my son...stay blessed!' And he was let in, escorted by two orderlies. The huge lawn was filled with many sporting his trademark white cotton caps but many others wore British tailored suits and not one donned khadi, he observed at once. A bevy of waitresses and team of waiters were fawning over the gathering. He was stunned to feel a stench of alcohol from a couple of passers by! He had fought for total prohibition in a cultural society needing sane, sober, hard workers. Rules and laws seemed to have undergone a vast change across these six decades that he was not alive on this earth! Nobody appeared to respect his presence. All were speaking of a Madam Gandhi and her son, Mr. Gandhi. A frail looking foreign looking woman then came in and was followed by an older Sardarji (a turbaned Sikh gentleman) a few steps behind her. A hush fell over the gathering. Then, began the speeches and every person without an exception was praising the Gandhi's of the day without a mention of his name or presence! There were parliamentarians of all political hues and shades but none cast even a furtive glance at him, not even the press corps! Only the security personnel on duty seemed to give the mahatma an eyeful but their suspicious looks further saddened him: where was the India he and millions of freedom fighters had dreamt for, had fought for, had sacrificed for? Where was India, a land of wisdom and love? Where was India, the soul of earth? Why were his countrymen eyeing each other with suspicion? Where did the heritage and culture go? But, he had heard in the evening of the Taj Mahal, the red fort and many other heritage structures being preserved. Was culture and heritage merely a site on the web world? Freedom won at enormous cost of life and lifetimes had no resemblance to their dreams, it appeared...no, he was always a man with a view of the world of humans... Humane existence was a must. Humanity looked up towards his teachings (influenced by the Bhagwad Gita, of course!) and yet, his own nation was in turmoil. India needed him. Now, more than ever before: mahatma Gandhiji realised this. And, leaning against an old Ashoka tree in the lawns of the Memorial, the grand old man of non violent movement and peaceful agitation in the world began to draw up a plan to battle the dark shadows which seemed to have shrouded his motherland. What next? Folks, I await too, with bated breath! Long live Non-violence! Long live Democracy!
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